


Keep Quiet

by AkaiShinda (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hunter Training, M/M, Recovery, Slow Build, Trauma, bounty hunter AU, mention of violence, secret agent AU, tectonic usuk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AkaiShinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting from a prompt. After being saved by a stranger, Arthur is waken by his savior; a young man with an unusual mission in the evenings and who protects him even from himself in a surprisingly natural, tender way. They don't know each other, but Alfred is determined to help him in recovery. After getting to know him slightly better Arthur is dazed to realize, Alfred's personality is the unification of enigmas and on the other side, pure and clear intentions. He can't help but stick around and carefully mend the pieces together... only to find entirely new purposes to live for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Trembling, suffocating warmth, sweat, dim silence, withheld breath... shaking again. _No light_. Hiding the scars, the face, the bruises. That didn’t happen. It just didn’t. Accident.

Or maybe, he fell on the street, or was hit by a bicycle, or...

What else could be?

Oh, yes, he tried the gym but he fell from the machine or hit himself with the weights. Probably that.

Maybe that’s too obvious... he’d never go to the gym by himself.

Falling from the stairs was still too weak...

Biting the lips, but they are swollen already. They hurt more as he feels the salty and metallic taste of flesh. _Oh God. That can’t be explained._

He put the long-sleeved shirts in a box in the wardrobe, since they were for the autumn... he has to dig them out. And, the cap too.... yes, he has sore throat, that’s a good one... or, he doesn’t like the sun, it’s piercing...

Hiding his face with the arms, crawling under the pillow. He wears something... on his hips... He feels the stretch of his own skin under patches and band aids. Someone cared for his bruises. It was not him.

But the smell is not his. The covers, the sheets... the pillow...

Fear grows inside. Trembling. Tightening the grip on the cushion, tensing the muscles in his arms, in his feet... if he had to fight, he is ready. Withheld breath, listening. The smallest noise can’t escape his notice. There was a fly in the room... once bus passed by outside, cars on the road... distorted noise of a radio. He wants to sniff the air of the room but afraid to come out from the shelter of the pillow. His forehead aches.

His neck aches as he tries to crawl deeper in the bed... pulls his knees up to his chest and strains them again, ready to kick if needed but his mind temporarily forgets that, trying to hold onto this tiny bit of safety that he has now. Several spots on his body ache.

Steps, confident, strong ones with exact direction. The door, the lock turns and opens up.

His whole body tenses, eyes wide, ears alert, his breath ceases.

The person stops beside the bed, he stands. The door closes, the man breaths quietly. He moves, something has been put on the nightstand... there is a nightstand... beside the bed, then.

Something is put on the end of the bed, a weight. His feet are ready to kick at the first touch, he waits, wants to faint, just get started, why is this taking so long...?

“Hey, come back. Don’t disturb him,” the man beside the bed breaths and takes the weight away from the bed, then joints crack and the weight returns... right behind his figure, holding the blanket down. “We should wake him somehow. I don’t want to shock him.”

He can’t stand this. Why is the man waiting? Just get started and end this fast.

He feels fingers on his shoulders and his body gives up; he shakes from the inside and can’t stop it, it’s obvious.

“Hey, wake up. It’s okay, you’re safe. I have a cat.”

What does that mean?

“Hey, it’s alright,” the hand strokes his arm, his sides, it’s burning and horrifying at the same time. The trembling from the inside grows; he doesn’t know how to react. Break free, let it go, hold onto it...

“You are safe. You are in my bed, I slept on the couch. Your bruises will hurt for a few days, if you want you can stay here. I made toast for you, it’s here,” he moves the plate a little on the nightstand for the other to hear, “and you had another guard. He’s been trying to get in this room all night, so... here he is, Cookie.”

The weight shifts from behind his back and returns right in front of the pillow. His eyes widen, breath stuck as he actually sees the intruder. Fur, soft paw, light green eyes, curious gaze. The cat lies in front of his face, waits for him, measures him then purrs as approaches a little bit more. Its paw reaches his nose, they both sniff. Seconds pass in silence again, before he squeezes his eyes shut as the wave of tremble strikes his body again; his throat tightens, he whimpers.

The cat meows, the man behind him strokes his side and his arms comfortingly, but the physical contact just strengthens the fear inside. It’s a vortex, he wants to crawl deeper, safer, to become invisible, be unreachable. It’s too much.

“Hey, don’t be scared. Would you like us to leave?”

He wants to nod but his body doesn’t obey anymore. It’s beyond that point. He grips the blanket tight, so tight his fingers hurt. They are all white; his joints ache from the strength. His body tenses as the hand leaves his side, his lips tremble. The cat comes closer, sniffs him, meows.

His breathing is weak but sufficient, squeezing his eyes shut he tries to force consciousness into his muscles but the only thing he achieves is clutching his elbows to himself like a baby. Pathetic.

The man stands behind him; he can see his figure in his mind. He is the one who brought him here, made him breakfast or lunch, he can’t judge, and he tried to comfort him a little. He brought a cat too. For a brief minute, nothing happens. No shift, no light flashes, not a shadow moves.

The man kneels beside the bed again, the cat raises and walks from the pillow covered head.

There is a distance between them even though their bodies connect; he feels the man’s hand on his shoulder; he holds him and hesitates.

“I cleaned your bruises yesterday. You were barely conscious. I put you to sleep and now I realized I don’t even know your name.”

That doesn’t change a thing. He’s in fear; this man has control over him, he did a huge favour that cannot be returned, he saved his life. He is in a huge dept now, it can be used against him. He prefers to stay silent, anyway, he cannot even control his own breathing.

“Well... now, should I call the ambulance? Are you in pain?”

The question startles the blonde; he jerks, pushes the pillow off his head and tries to flee from the blanket but from the mere shock the man grabs him, calls for his attention and tries to hold him down from falling from the bed, all in vain. He is half-way down to the floor when he realizes his legs are tangled in the sheets and he can’t get out. The man holds his arm, carefully pulls him back but to do this he also had to climb on the bed. He puts the injured back on his place, lies down beside him and slowly tugs him in the blanket.

“It’s alright... I guess I won’t call them, then. No need to be afraid, you are safe.”

Still, he is stiff and tense like a caged animal in the night-time fear, being so close to a complete stranger.

He doesn’t know this man, but he is warm. He doesn’t wear shirt which is terrifying and soothing at the same time...  He holds him carefully, gives him space to move his arm into a more comfortable position, he lets him turn away even though it hurts; the bruises ache. He can’t escape; he’s going to be hugged, even though that feels like being imprisoned into an unknown person’s embrace, it’s tight it’s relaxing it’s too safe, natural warmth, natural touch. He doesn’t know how to react, the emotions twirl in an unnatural twist, they build up into burning pain, perplexity.

He cries. It’s a weak whimper then it grows, it cannot be stopped it’s too harsh, all at once. The man buries his head in the nape of his neck, holds him tight as he, the injured, the betrayed, wails. He’s been hurt, stomped on, cut open, torn open. He’s clear in front of this stranger, there is no cloud or mist in their communication. He is broken, the other is strong. He is forgotten, the other is known. It hurts even more; no one but a stranger came to save his life from those people. It hurts, the wounds ache, the bones remember the kicks. His crying just intensifies it all, he can’t hold onto anything but the person’s arms, his scent and his tight presence embracing his whole figure...

“Let it out.”

He never had a beating before, he never had anyone humiliate him so openly, so obviously. It just started, just happened, and here he is... still alive. _Why?_

He doesn’t remember clearly, they asked his name and where he’s heading, before he knew he was slammed in the wall and it all began. He didn’t know where it all came from, all he remembers is the flash of lights, the laughter, the pain... and suddenly it ended and his memories are faded. He remembers the scent, the hold of this man, his voice. Oh yes, the couch... he was naked in front of him, he cared for his injuries and placed him into this bed. His sobbing slowly faltered into weak cries and before he registered, he was holding the man’s hand in his own, tangling their fingers. The other lay still behind his figure, hugging him, breathing into his neck and keeping him safe from his own self.

He didn’t let him fall again... he protected him.

He cleared his throat even though his voice was raw, he managed to pronounce an answer for his hero.

“Arthur.”

...

The minutes grow into hours in silence. There is a hole in between them, one of them is on the borderline of sleep, the other is gently watching. Sometimes these roles switch, tender strokes are exchanged. There is no point in denying it, the sun goes down slowly; it paints the walls crimson and they spent the entire day in the bed.

The sunset ends all. The man shifts, Arthur tenses.

“I gotta go. I’ll be back soon.”

He tries to say something but instead he only sits up, slowly and wincing from the ache. He looks at the other, and for the first time since they met, consciously. His saviour is tall, strong and... young. Younger than expected. He puts glasses on, ruffles his hair a little bit to organize it but a mop of hair stands up at his forehead but he neglects it since their eyes met and he keeps Arthur’s gaze.

He stops in his moves and shifts his weight from one foot to another and looks back at him; eyes sunk in tenderness, care and sorrow. For a few seconds he says nothing then collects his thoughts as his eyes wander and check every bruise and wound. “You should re-heat the toast, if you are hungry. There is more food in the fridge.”

He doesn’t want to go. He fidgets on his place, pulls a shirt on, walks to the window and checks the weather and Arthur casts his eyes down. He should be grateful. At least, say something.

“Okay.”

The man nods, takes his shoes on and returns to the bed to sit on the edge which is closer to Arthur who stiffens again.  The young man hesitates; he wants to say something but he simply cannot, he avoids his eyes and instead, caresses a band aid on the injured blonde’s arm. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

“You shouldn’t move so much. Rest, your body needs to heal itself.”

He only nods and casts his eyes down again, tries to drain his own attention away by looking at his own fingers. Something unspoken has been revealed. He’s not sure, but he knows, feels it in his chest. Skin tingles upon being touched, the man says goodbye and walks out of the room. The door closes, the lock clicks. He’s gone.

. . .

The next morning finds him beside the man again. He was sleeping all night; his mind needs time to digest all that happened. The beating, the aching parts, the saviour and the sudden relief of being safe. He feels it as he is touched and cared about with tenderness but with a kind push to do things by himself and get back into his usual routine. He still has questions but the person beside him is asleep and he doesn’t want to wake him, instead he decides to make breakfast for him. The favour would be returned, the dept would shrink a little.

They eat together at the table in the kitchen; Arthur is glad his ribs don’t ache that much. They still do but it’s not that unbearable anymore. The man in front of him, shirtless again, gazes in the empty distance in front of him, his mind is racing it can be seen on his expression. After being so quiet he puts his fork down beside the plate and clears his throat, Arthur glances up.

But there’s too much to say at once. He swallows and Arthur nods, he understands. They are practically living together for two days, sleeping, waking, eating and relaxing together.  He knows that this man has some unknown burden on his shoulders that can’t be confessed so easily.

“I...” he mumbles. Bits his lips, raises his eyebrows, shakes his head. He has the urge to talk, but how? Suddenly Arthur is helplessly lost too; should he continue eating or wait for the words...?

The moments pass in mutual embarrassment, the man chuckles instead, blushes slightly and scratches the back of his head. “Err, well...”

“Just say it.”

“I... hope I’m not creepy.”

Arthur has to raise his eyebrows at that, and chuckle. He didn’t chuckle for days, his own soft voice is strange for his own ears. It’s a nice feeling. The morning light shines on them, warming their skins and brightening the whole scene. His saviour tries to hide his smile, glances down and tries to reach for his fork at the same time so he nearly spills the glass of water. Arthur is scared for a moment, but the man catches the glass and saves their breakfast.

“You’re not creepy... you’re a dolt,” the blonde utters, as their gazes meet he tries to keep his own reddening cheeks in control. Now his ears are flaming in a nice crimson colour instead.

“I’m a superhero.”

“Oh.”

First Arthur thinks the man is joking to save the situation and bring the previous atmosphere back... but the seconds pass in silence and the man doesn’t move. He is serious. Arthur looks up, his jade green eyes melt in the ocean’s blue. The morning sunlight burns his arms, he draws them away.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he just fumbles with his bacon a little bit more before taking it into his mouth. He has to digest this again... that nonsense.

“How could you be?”

“I have a... power.”

Just like every superhero right...? He wouldn’t call himself that if...

“Well.”

“I am... strong. Very strong. I can lift cars if I want to.”

Looking at the muscles in those arms by instinct, Arthur can’t judge. Yes, he definitely looks strong however, not from working out. Those are... not bubble-muscles from chemicals. Those are real ones, from physical work, steady and every-day physical work, though they don’t seem to be surreally sized. Just, normal. He feels how his own body is smaller, tries to shrink a little but it’s impossible. He’s seen by those blue eyes, he’s open in front of him.

“You are the first one who I... brought home. I couldn’t reach you in time, you were beaten badly. I’m sorry, it’s my fault.”

He only blinks. There’s no need for that nonsense. It was not his fault, and he knows it too it can be heard in his voice. He apologizes because he feels guilty but the guilt is not rooted in Arthur’s case. It’s only a weak attempt. He averts his eyes from the man, frowns and swallows since he doesn’t want to say anything that might hurt the other. He’s a saviour, a hero after all. Or, should be.

“When you feel better, I’ll take you home if you want..” he’s hesitating, he shakes his head a little which means he doesn’t want to do as his own words suggest, “and if you want, then... you’ll not see me again.”

That’s surprising for Arthur; now he’s the perplexed one, “why would I ask for that?”

The young man shrugs and averts his eyes. Shame, trembling self-esteem, he glances up with his eyes again, hoping to get a brightening reply. “Because, I’m creepy?”

“You’re not creepy.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

That’s true.

“You saved me.”

“But...”

“Thank you.”

It’s over, the young man’s eyes tell so. He takes a deep breath and puts his fork down, leans back in the chair, bites his own lips and glances down to the floor. He’s disappointed and suddenly, lonely.

Arthur’s eyes widen at the realization.

He’s lonely.

For moments, he only watches the man as he is sitting and tries to consider options how to deal with the whole situation, then the blonde looks around the flat again, secretly pretending to watch his own plate. He doesn’t see photos about family, trips or anything. There are no little souvenirs or anything that might suggest that this man had someone to share his thoughts with. Only comic books, posters, little statues of characters, DVD piles...

And he had no choice. He saved Arthur, he tried to do his best to keep him safe and content, he tried to give him comfort and help him to recover fast and now, he sees it. He has no choice, what is going to stay and what is determined to leave.

His eyes sank into coldness. He sighs, raises his gaze to meet Arthur’s and the blonde freezes on his place, the sunlight pierces his skin with sudden violence. There is no light in those eyes anymore. He failed himself. He saved him, tried to give him everything but it was not enough. He would do anything to make him stay. He’s lonely.

“If I told you, that... I don’t even know you, but... hearing that you offer me, not to see you again, is nonsense... it’s... it’s all nonsense,” now, here they are. Arthur doesn’t know how to say it. His eyes show the same urge that the other had a few minutes ago and he needs time too to compose his thoughts into sentences. “It’s all nonsense.”

“Why?”

“Because... why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

It’s so hard to be honest to someone who matters, so suddenly. Two days ago, he didn’t even know this man existed.

“Because I’m not normal like the other people. I have this... power, and I use it to save other people. I want to... do big things, do good... and you don’t believe me. You think I’m a freak, and when you recover you’ll leave.”

“What if I told you to slow down?”

That startles the young hero. “What?”

It seems foolish, but Arthur decides to follow his mind’s ideas. Anyway, he has no secrets in front of that man. “May I... ask your name?”

The blue eyes soften; he bits the insides of his lips and nods. “Alfred.”

“Thank you Alfred, for saving my life.”

“Your welcome,” the young man nods and sighs, this time with relief. “You’re right.”

The blonde hums in contentment as he returns to his breakfast again... considering that they spent the previous day in the same bed, cuddling through numerous hours and then he found themselves in the same position that morning... Arthur feels a strange kind of curiosity. He never had that comfortable feeling around anyone, without wearing shirt and longer trousers and with Alfred he felt natural in being around barely wearing shorts. He wished to know more about him, after all they went through.

“How old are you?” He begins.

“Twenty.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“You... your accent. You’re not from this area, right?”

“Yes, I’m British. I was born in Manchester.”

“Wow, and you’re now here in Maine.”

“Oh, yes. Long ride.”

He smiles, and Arthur’s heart beats happily. He smiles too.

“I work in a bookstore, Alfred, in the centre.”

“I work in a BestBuy on Crossing Way.”

“That’s a nice place to work at.”

He nods. “I want to apply to the military soon. I want to help the country.”

“I see.”

“You still don’t believe me, right?”

Arthur hums.

“At least, we introduced ourselves. Let’s move step by step.”

Now it’s Alfred’s turn to hum in agreement. He sees Arthur’s point and he is calm again, he leans towards the table and takes a look at Arthur’s bandages again. His eyes wander on his shape of the blonde, taking in the colours of the bruises and as he measures the damages he tries to keep the other distracted. “Alright. I... I like comic books, movies, video games... I like some books too but I prefer watching above reading.”

Not like Arthur is not watching him. Accidentally their eyes meet, both blush, Arthur hides his face in embarrassment while Alfred just chuckles and glances up on the ceiling.

“Sorry?” Laughing softly, he looks back at Arthur with kindness and cherish in his eyes.

“You started, idiot.”

“Apologies. Just checking your...”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, but they are...”

“It’s alright, stop it you... git.”

At that, the young man raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me? A what?”

“Git, you deaf git.”

They can’t hold it back, Alfred cracks up laughing and Arthur is so embarrassed he starts chuckling too.

“You’re not a superhero, you’re a dork.”

“Not a bad start.”

Arthur is not sure how the other means it but certainly, he agrees. That’s not a bad start.

 

 

 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not beta'd, I re-read it a few times, waited few days and re-read before posting, it should be fine. I love writing it, I hope you will like reading it. :)

„Well, uh. See you later, I guess?” He scratches the nape of his neck in embarrassment and he’s not the only nervous one. Standing in a way-too-big white shirt and obviously bloodstained jeans, Arthur uneasily looks around and nods.

“You could stop by,” he mumbles, averting his look from his saviour. “If you want.”

“Of course but I barely never come by this road. It’s not in the direction, but... yea. Some time.”

It’s awkward, they both knew it will be awkward. Either of them wants to make the first move to leave or to ask for cell-phone number, whatever, just something. Alfred sinks his hands in his pockets and like a high-school boy, sways his hips back and forth just to do something while Arthur bits his lower lip. There is a pause, a distance none of them knows how to shorten or leap through even though they share something in common.

“Well... thank you for everything.”

 And this is way too empty to say goodbye.

“Your welcome.”

 “See you, and... take care, Alfred.”

“You too, Arthur.”

He doesn’t want to turn around but he has to. He has no choice either; he has to walk to the door of the house, fumble with the keys and close Alfred out of his sight. There’s only a dim light in the stairway and no one else knows how deep the jade-green eyes sink in longing. It feels like he’s been pierced open again and something essential has been taken... gripped and torn away from him. His fingers mindlessly curl around the edge of the big white shirt, he bits the insides of his lips. He cannot turn around. Alfred must be gone.

He’d do anything to make him stay, as the young man would too.

He walks up the stairs and opens the door of the apartment that he shares with two other men; one student and an immigrant just like himself. His feet lead him into his room, he tosses his bag on the bed and steps beside the desk to check it. No one touched anything in his absence...

His eyes wander on the sky, on the street and he gasps as he sees the young man, still standing on the pavement and now that he’s in the window, the spectacled hero waves him goodbye a bit shyly.

In his posture, as he lowers his gaze and Arthur sees him sigh, he knows the feeling growing in his chest is the same the man has as well. From the way he walks, from the way his shoulders fall and he bows his head towards the ground, Arthur sees the sky-blue eyes in front of him again.

No light in the blue.

He draws the curtains, the sun blinds him for a second violently.

...

The days pass by. He apologizes to his boss, luckily he is not fired. The routine of the week has to continue, he has morning shifts, afternoon shifts, the two vary.

Something’s still off.

He counts the days for some reason. Two, four, a week, ten, twelve, two weeks.

The sky is not so blue anymore but the sun is either burning hot or so weak he has to pull cardigan on. His room lacks light, his roommates’ stories are dull and the books he adored lack something he never thought of before. The light coming from the light bulbs and the sun lost their luminance; weak, dim and simply inefficient to do anything, still they are disturbingly fierce.

This whole flow he calls life, lacks something.

...

He doesn’t want to forget. The man who saved him, the man who comforted him and gave him shelter. The man who reassured him, he has worth it. He is acceptable, lovable.

He doesn’t want to forget the way he looked at him. He doesn’t want to forget those eyes, those smiles, the small nods, the chuckles. He doesn’t want to forget the warmth of the sheets, the morning sun’s caress to wake him being surrounded by safety and gentleness. He wants to remember the smell, the scents, the constant feeling of being touched so naturally and yet so carefully. He had his own space even if he was tightly hugged and he had his own freedom even if he was in a bedroom. He woke with the heavy weight of Alfred’s arm on his side and his breath hot in the nape of his neck yet he felt content and safe.

His bed is empty, the shirt he borrowed lost its scent and he has only one pillow to hug. He uses towels under his head to replace the cushion for the time being.

...

Two months pass in the calendar. He is reading books he never thought he would pick up into his hands. John Green, Bret Easton Ellis, Sofi Oksanen... he is dreamy, he is anticipating something he doesn’t even know yet. He just waits with a general reluctance but a cool spark of stoic light is maintained. He’s an average guy, after all.

It’s Thursday, afternoon. People are working, barely anyone comes into a bookstore, only to spend some time but not to actually buy something. His boss is annoyed of the emptiness but Arthur’s attention is way too deep in Jeanatte Winterson’s book to care. He sits behind the cash register and reads casually.

He doesn’t notice the customers only if they come to the cash register but his eyes decide to notice this particular man. His mind stops mid-sentence abruptly, he puts the book down and doesn’t care to check the page. Yes, it’s him. He has to control himself though; Alfred recognised him too but Arthur’s boss stopped him with the usual “can I help you?”, and the young man tries to reject him politely but then again, he walks up to the cash register.

Arthur cannot hide his anticipation and the almost childish spark of hope in his eyes.

“May I help you?”

Alfred wears jeans and a light-green button-up which looks either way too good or way too formal, Arthur can’t decide. He holds a backpack on his shoulder, putting it on the ground upon arriving to the desk. They stare at each other, swallowing the sight, the scents, the longing.

“Yes, please.”

His eyes never leave his gaze. There’s no break between them; he slightly frowns at the small pause.

“With?”

“I was looking for this shop for a while. I heard you can order antique comic releases in newly printed versions.”

_Oh._

Arthur raises his eyebrows and hides his frustration very well. _That...._

“There is only a few, you might want to tell me a title?”

“Of course. Captain America. And I’d like the release from 1975, the third one.”

He’s telling him exact numbers, an exact issue. Captain America; Arthur vaguely recalled the guy’s appearance. Shield, strength, being left behind from the past....

His eyes can’t hide his perplexity. From the computer screen he glances up on Alfred’s eyes, blue melting in green, then the man tilts his head towards the screen, suggesting Arthur to do so as well. That is not the right time.

“There is one in the system. I can order it for you.”

“Please, do so.”

Captain America . 1975. Issue: 183. ‘Nomad: No More’.

“It is a March.”

“Yes, indeed,” Alfred nods and shrugs. That’s not the right path. “Came out on a Friday.”

“I see. Such a good day to read.”

“Yea,” the young hero shifted, put his elbow on the desk and turned to block the sight of the manager as secretly as he could, he also scribbled his name and address down on a piece of paper which he simply left on the desk. Arthur decided to go on since from the corner of his eyes he saw the manager’s attention.

“In those days, work ended around six for workers like us,” taking the piece of paper, he entered the address and the name. There was a cell phone number too.

“Good that now we can have shifts. On Fridays I’m out at five.”

Seeing the numbers and unconsciously memorizing it, Arthur hummed at the understatement, “you can have a nice evening in town, then. It’s not that late.”

“It’s cool, yea. My favourite place is Starbucks but recently it’s been a bit too crowded... I moved to Hemingway’s.”

“Appreciation, that’s a shift of quality for sure. Your order has been registered. Thank you for choosing us.”

“Royal ‘we’, right?” Alfred winked with a sly smirk on his face and the blonde was startled for a few seconds; embarrassment and anger grew ever so fast inside. The other wasn’t only smiling, it was a _smirk_ , and it was not supposed to be there! Not now! Not here! Not ever?!

“Some have the privilege,” he decided to pick up the flow.

“Ouh, touchy. Must be an honour for you.”

Well, Alfred couldn’t pick it up.

“Don’t push it,” forcing his face to be blank, Arthur managed to pronounce these words but he couldn’t force his lips to stay in a straight line; they curled into a tiny smile that Alfred cherished so much. The bright blue eyes lit up on the spot.

“I’m not pushing anything. It was nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure is mine, mister Jones,” oh, that professional blink to dismiss, and Alfred understood him.

“We’ll take a look at that later,” he winked _again_ and before Arthur could reach and grab him by the shirt he stepped away from the desk and paced out of the shop with fast steps, because obviously he heard Arthur hiss when he lost his balance. His boss strode to the desk and Arthur apologized for ‘nearly dropping the pencil case, he tried to reach it’ but well. Nothing happened.

...

_I want to hit him._

“I want to hit him,” it’s only a dreamy statement but it’s true.

“Who?”

He turns around abruptly and stares in the cheerful blue eyes, “You! You, Mr. Jones!”

The young man laughs then proudly steps closer to Arthur and smiles, ”you should be grateful for my detective skills, I have found you on my own without any help. The only thing I knew was that you work in a bookstore somewhere in the centre.”

Anyway, it’s half past five... Arthur averts his eyes in embarrassment and tries to come up with something to oppose just for the sake of opposing, “last time when I looked around, I saw three bookstores.”

“Yea, that makes at least three shopkeepers for each of them with various shifts during the week.”

“Oh, would you look at those maths skills, Sherlock,” he rolls his eyes and nods towards the café. Alfred has an almost disappointed expression, he also rolls his eyes and motions for Arthur to go forth.

They take seats inside on a smaller sofa in a secluded area behind a bookshelf. It takes only a few minutes until they have their drinks in front of them on the small table and Arthur feels content again. Usually, being in a café with someone at least he would feel some kind of anticipation, excitement... but now, he is only content. Alfred sits beside him in a brown leather jacket, (it as a US Air Force badge on the left side) and in casual blue jeans with Chuck Taylors and he decides to rest his hand on the sofa behind Arthur’s neck so he can turn to him easily and see his expressions. The blonde likes his attention; it’s not suffocating or either too intense for some reason, but yet again, Alfred had seen such sides of Arthur that no one had before.

“So, I hoped I could find you again.”

“I’m glad you did,” the familiar silence settles between them with this statement. Arthur looks around with folded arms which lack his usual grumpiness or retreatment; he only holds them there so he’s available for touches. He watches the people, the place, the titles of books on the bookshelf while he is aware of Alfred’s gaze wandering on his chest, arms and thighs, knowing that the other looks for the remnants of bruises.  The murmur of the café is distant but a good cover for their own communication; the staff and the other guests don’t pay attention to their presence at all.

Arthur is the first with the questions; he feels an urge to get Alfred talk, “so, how have you been? What happened to you?”

The other blinks and smiles sheepishly, there’s too much to tell on the spot, “did my first trip to New York City.”

“Oh. How was it?”

“Good. Saved people.  My stuff.”

Arthur frowned. Is this his hobby or what? Saving people for his own pleasure? He doesn’t get anything from this, and travelling to NYC when the simple idea of staying in NYC is not cheap either. Anyway... he saves people, in the night time, what is he doing, walking the streets and if he sees trouble he intervenes?

“How many?”

“Bah, a lot. More than twenty.”

Does this mean... more than twenty Arthurs?

 Suddenly he doesn’t want to know more about the trip; an unusual tightness conquers his insides and he grips his own arms, averts his eyes from Alfred and presses his lips together.

“I didn’t get into much trouble, luckily. Last time when I was in Miami, I could barely climb out of a huge fight and after that I had to bring the injured to the nearest hospital too. Not a pleasant ride.”

Humming.

“It’s all good but there is a little problem. I mean... I know you still don’t believe me, but it’s not easy to keep this in control and I have to practice a lot to use it easily. It’s not all covered in sugar ‘n cherry on top.”

Aha, sure. Arthur rolls his eyes.

“I would like you to believe me.”

He’d like many people to believe him. He knows from the way the words leave the young man’s mouth, he’s said this sentence numerous times. The pronunciation is way too smooth and the tone has a wave that just _betrays_ him.

Yet again... this is Alfred.

“I want to show you this, but I’m also hesitating because you might get scared.”

That of all, surprises Arthur. He raises his eyebrows and sighs, come on, he won’t get scared from Alfred, probably lifting weight.

 “Don’t exaggerate that.”

“I’m not exaggerating, you see, you don’t believe me!” Alfred leans closer, desperation and will in his eyes and Arthur can’t tear his gaze away. This dark-blond, spectacled young man is literally in an emotional torture, he wants to show something so bad that it hurts him from the inside. He is also ashamed of his own moodiness; he looks down apologetically and nods. “Sorry.” Blue eyes sink in guilt.

“No, don’t say that,” he turns towards him, for a second attempts to touch him but instead lowers his hand on his own thigh. Not the right place.

“I have to. You’ll get scared and leave.”

“Well, I risked my job for your comic book I guess that should be enough proof that I’m not planning on leaving.”

There is a severe confusion in the hero’s eyes and for seconds he tries to compose a diplomatic answer though Arthur decides to explain.

“You and me... I don’t know what exactly, but there is something between us. If my boss would have sensed it we both would have been kicked out of the store.”

Alfred’s innocent eyes look back at him; he blinks and holds his gaze. He doesn’t get it.

“He’s a Republican.”

A surprised ‘oh’ is the proof that now he does.

...

A few minutes pass in silence after Alfred tells the statement that he is already in connection with the police and they acknowledge him. The officers don’t know exactly how to handle his strength and how to judge his actions but they appreciate his help. The hospital staff knows him already, they know if he has bruises or wounds they don’t have to worry about them; injuries that would take weeks to heal for a normal person, disappear in less than a week for Alfred. His usual appearance at the hospital building includes his own car that he pulls by hand if it’s too full of the injured (like at that night in Miami), or himself, carrying two or three people in his hands. The nurses and the doctors are not surprised anymore.

The fact that he is a _super_ hero doesn’t mean he is rich and has twenty cars and owns secret dungeon. He doesn’t have any of these. Only a cat, named Cookie.

He considers himself _super_ hero, judging from the amount of people he saved compared to the comic book heroes. He reads those tales (as Arthur calls them) to get inspired, to get new tactics and to know he’s not entirely alone. From the way he talks about the Creator, Arthur knows this young man’s dream is to meet Stan Lee in person.

Something still isn’t right. Arthur can’t put his finger on it but it’s just... not right.

He doesn’t understand him. He’s close, so close he can feel the warmth radiating from his body and yet the distance seems to grow between them. Alfred has a world that is dangerous, secretive and somehow surreal and the blonde doesn’t know the way to relate himself to it. Unbelievable.

“I could take you to the place I practice because... I would like an outsider’s opinion.”

That too...

“Why would you need that?”

“Because I have troubles with controlling this whole thing.”

Arthur mildly hesitates in keeping himself stoic and distant or maybe with a little effort to actually start listening to the other’s words. For now, he resists a shrug.

“Well it must be hard for sure.”

“Yea, and there’s no one who would ever believe me or even after that, stay long enough to help. Sometimes I feel like...” Alfred’s thoughts drift far from their original topic; his blue eyes wander around the café as he looks for the right words and the shorter blonde suddenly feels worry creeping into his heart. As the man confesses Arthur begins to feel the resemblance between their persons, uneasiness fills his heart with sympathy towards this young man.

 “I feel like I help everyone I can, but then we say goodbye and it’s over. No one stays because what matters is their own life. You are the first who actually shows... “

_What...?_

The English man would like to shift closer but they are close enough; maybe too close for a public place but the perplexity, the shame and sorrow give a mesmerizing shade to those ocean blue eyes and at that moment he feels himself being drawn to him. Closer, deeper, discover and enter that world inside.

Alfred presses his lips together, he chews on them and licks them, he does that all the time when he is embarrassed or shy and because of that, Arthur _knows_ inside that his lips must be soft. He doesn’t realize but his own breaths are heavier and his gaze is locked on the man in front of him; his lips, his eyes, his whole existence.

“You’re the first who could... make this right.”

The spectacled lowers his gaze; the hero is gone. This is Alfred. Alone, trying to help, to care, to show something no one has shown to Arthur before; explain a notion and a whole entity that can’t be put into words by someone who goes through this every day. It’s too intense and Arthur shudders from the core of his being; he tears his gaze away to re-collect his own thoughts and stop for a second.

He needs to think; it’s too intense. This man lives a life with two identities, no wonder he can’t function properly...  twenty years old with a cat at home, no family around...

How could he fix something? He couldn’t fix his own life yet at age twenty-three... how could Alfred expect him to help so much? What did he expect from him?

He takes a sip from his cup.

“I... I don’t know.”

He didn’t want to say it out loud but he did and now Alfred looks back at him, disbelief tangled with fragility and suddenly Arthur finds himself mindlessly taking his hand into his and holding his gaze with such determination that he can’t help but blurt it out, “but I want to work it out. I really want to. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I want to.”

“Arthur...” the hero seems to approach in Alfred’s eyes again; his confidence climbs forth and his fingers tighten around Arthur’s.

“I need a second to breath but... yeah.”

“Arthur...”

“Yes?” he looks back in the spectacled blue eyes and suddenly feels a strange kind of embarrassment; his cheeks and his ears redden. Maybe he said something creepy?

“You... you have whipped cream moustache.”

...

Just how awkward can it be, to be around Alfred Jones? Just when will the time come when there won’t be situations in which both of them blush or crack laughing at each other, or when Arthur won’t have the sudden urge to _hit him_.

The “ _hero_ ”.

...

They end up at Alfred’s place again and Arthur remembers every step on the stairway even after two months. The smell of the hallway speaks of memories, old ladies with puppies and young couples; prams and old baskets are beside the main door. Some doors have flower stickers on them.

Alfred’s flat is small but cosy. The cat is a Scottish Fold, beige-coloured, three years old. His name is Cookie and Alfred doesn’t remember exactly how did this name come into his mind but Arthur knows he is lying. He averts his eyes and pretends to notice something in the sink so he starts washing cups until Arthur puts his shoes and his jacket in the wardrobe. The cat likes him, watches him and walks beside him in the kitchen. From the dining table the whole flat can be viewed.

The carpet, the bookshelves, the plants and the pictures in the living room along with the whole atmosphere radiates warmth, a home-like friendliness. He sees the couch again and immediately remembers what Alfred had done to him there; clean his wounds and see the entire of his body without barriers. For some reason as he looks at the young man again, preparing a cup of tea for him and a latte for himself, he doesn’t blush. It happened. He can’t change the way it happened.

He shifts and decides to sit on the sofa instead, testing its softness and texture. The cat jumps up behind him and with jealousy in his eyes, tries to declare the couch as his territory when Alfred intervenes and brushes the animal off from the furniture. Arthur has chamomile tea; it’s November and Alfred doesn’t want him to catch cold.

The bedroom hasn’t changed either. The wall has a peachy colour that has an almost orange-crimson mixture shade in the sunset and incredible sunflower-yellow one in the morning. The bed has white sheets, blankets and pillows; his skin remembers their softness and delicacy. The nightstand lacks the tray with the cup of water and the toast and Arthur sees the hero’s slippers at the feet of the bed. He feels tempted to go and cover himself in the duvet and switch his life off for a few days just to be with Alfred and be surrounded with that calmness again. The man sits beside him with the remote control and browses the uploaded movies on his PlayStation. It’s completely natural and unexplained. He is close again, but not close enough and for seconds that seem like eternity, Arthur is torn in between shortening the distance (three-four inches) or keep it that way.

His mind and his heart races. Alfred leans back on the sofa and starts a movie, he doesn’t say which because the titles are on the screen; he rests his arm on the sofa and holds the cup of coffee in his other hand. This feels like pure invitation but Arthur glances towards the screen and regains control over his desire. He cannot just lean onto him or hug him just because he wants to...

The opening credits are over and the movie begins. Arthur chews on his own mouth; unconsciously his eyes are drawn to the bedroom; the warm and cosy sheets with their safety, they would cover his whole being from the outside world, from reality, from everything he doesn’t want to face and still he would have Alfred all around. He would feel his presence and know that he is there for him...

He frowns. That’s what Alfred wants him to do. He needs him, but Arthur needs him too.

Not so fast, tiger.

He attempts to glance towards Alfred and he blushes. Their eyes met in that split of the second.

How can Alfred expect him just to... be all comfortable and natural again, after two months, after disappearing and saving other people and... and...

He frowns and darts his eyes away from the movie, he doesn’t watch it anyway.

He has his own dignity and he is not a damsel in distress and he won’t just... snuggle up beside him even if he could because Alfred would like him to and it would be so warm and cosy and lovely but way too... straight-forward. Yes, that is it. Straight-forward.

_Since when has he been straight, anyway?_

He wants to explode from this frustration.

...

He did it.

“I’ll hit you.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m telling you.”

“Of course.”

With Alfred’s head in his lap, his cat on the other side, Arthur sips from his chamomile tea and tries to re-compose his dignity from the ashes. His other hand brushes through the hero’s hair as if it was a natural and absolutely normal act. The young man sniffs his cardigan loudly and exhales with joy, nudges a little bit closer, _even closer_ , and hugs his middle tightly to himself. Arthur glances on the side and sees Alfred’s feet in the air from the knees; the man lies on his stomach and holds him in an embrace.

“You smell good... like, daffodils.”

_Heaven help me, I’m stuck with a cuddler superhero._

Jhonny Depp has a shocked expression on the screen. No one else does.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems this story really stuck in my head. :) We are getting to the actual story slowly, this narration technique lets me go faster with the plot than the normal one I use and... I grew to like this as well.  
> Tell me what you think about it so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not as easy as it seems: not matter how smooth the start might be, there will always be pebbles on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very last slow-ass chapter before the real action. I hope you won’t get too bored over here.

It was not a question that he will spend the night at Alfred’s place.  It was so evident that when the hero prepared pancakes for dinner and he was cutting the fruits for the dessert Alfred suggested on watching one more movie before he goes on his usual night-time trip. The tone and the idea itself is so casual that the blonde’s response is only a short humming.

In the softly hushed atmosphere their discussions are cut even shorter than usual. They eat quietly at the table, eyes wandering around the still space and each other. Arthur can’t put his finger on it, but something is in the process of forming and he is unable to control the event anymore: his heart and his instincts begin to have stronger voice in his actions.

When Alfred leaves a few hours later, Arthur is merely sitting on the sofa and for a few minutes he tries not to feel awkward. This flat was designed to be homely and the only “unorganized” being that he encountered was Cookie... but being surrounded by the space of Alfred along with the void of his very person, Arthur brushes through his hair with his fingers and decides to think. He has the perfect opportunity, after all.

. . .

He still doesn’t know what Alfred expects from him. The only things he did so far was eating Alfred’s food and spent some time with him. He wasn’t a huge help.

But he is in a debt.

His eyes nervously search for something he is not sure of; something to keep his mind away from these thoughts. He doesn’t want to be around Alfred because of the debt; it’s not that easy. It’s more than that although inexplicable.

He has to stand up; the sofa is too soft and too comfortable for his irritated mind. His eyes dart at the small plant in the window, at the other plant beside the television and he remembers there is one in the bedroom. Three plants plus a cat; this man knows multi-tasking while Arthur is incapable of maintaining a simple cactus’ needs. This man with the huge Captain America comic book collection, the plants, the cat, the comfortable and cosy flat and nicely ironed clothes wants _him_ , to make something right.

Well, in that frustrated state of mind Arthur thinks of making a good cup of Earl Grey for Alfred, knowing that this is probably the only thing he cannot mess up.

He doesn’t know Alfred’s intentions; his aims or his desires. He looks around and searches for something but since he has no idea what he is looking for, he sighs and with an irritated look he dismisses the cat from his feet. Why is this fur-ball still awake? Right. Cats are active in the night too.

Forcing himself to stay in one place, Arthur sits on the sofa and lets Cookie play with his fingers; he tries to force thoughts and ideas off his mind but it’s hard. It is dark outside and there is a huge contrast between the luminance of the light bulb in the room and the dim shades of the streets. He stands and pulls the curtains in absent-mindedly since a new notion has been formed in his head. Still standing at the window, he listens to his own breathing for a few seconds as he puts the whole picture together.

Alfred has tons of Captain America comic books; to get inspiration and to know he is not alone.

He paces to the bookshelves and looks for an exact issue. It has to be old, since Alfred just ordered a newly printed version. There are so many books, so many issues that his eyes are exhausted after a few minutes of following the lines and eventually he gives up. The light is insufficient, not strong enough. He looks for his own phone and opens Wikipedia.

‘Nomad: No More’. ‘Captain America’.  1975, March.

He has to frown at the upcoming images. A man tied to a log, the description tells of a disappointed hermit superhero who is fed up with the corruption that surrounds him; his beloved country turned out to be a filthy tavern of starved dogs. After the hero’s leave, many try to convince him that the world is worth to fight for but the hero follows his routes. He is strong and disciplined, he takes up a new identity and has a shift in priorities; from saving entire countries now he focuses on the people... but the hero is forced to return; he is restless and cannot watch innocent men suffer. He returns...

... and the rest of the heroes watch him fall. Promises had been muttered, swears bound and contracts coined, it is all the same.

Frozen air runs up on Arthur’s spine, his arms and through his entire being. The picture, the cover image of the issue is burnt into his memory; the harshness of colours, the torn and emphasized shades of yellow, grey and the shades of the suffering hero’s uniform. He is unconscious yet fully aware of his situation; the two are opposites still united in his posture. He wants to save people... even though he knows it’s all rotten below the surface.

He wants a revelation. He is waiting, he has been waiting. He wants to get it right this time.

Nomad... a person who has no permanent residence or home country. A person who wanders, who keeps going and finding new places to live at and for a certain time he will reside at one place but is determined to leave.

The meaning confuses the man of literature again. Alfred’s mentioned ‘leaving’ only in connection with himself and other people. He was the one, left behind... and it is Arthur who stayed. Can’t be, a twenty year old lad cannot outsmart such a guy in similes like Arthur. He frowns and re-collects his thoughts.

A few seconds have to pass until he finally manages to quiet his raging thoughts and began to think again. His eyes sink in the deepness of the cover image then he is looking around as if the floor, the ceiling or the furniture would help him in finding connections between the points.

Even though Captain America created a Nomad identity for himself to express his neutrality and determination to save civilians... Arthur has a suspicion that Alfred has a different idea in mind.

He is reminded by the huge pile of comic books and the lack of personal souvenirs that he doesn’t know anything about Alfred’s past. Not even the name of his hometown.

It is getting more and more perplexing. He has to stop himself from getting anxious.

Arthur decides to wait until Alfred’s return.

. . .

He was so tempted by the scent and the texture of the bed that he had a quick shower and lied down among the covers. They all had Alfred’s fragrance inside, he didn’t even have to sniff them just let his mind quiet and still like the surface of a lake after the rain.

He fell asleep without realizing it and now wakes by the noise of the entrance door opening. His first reaction is frowning; the absolute usual when he is awoken by something. Rubbing his eyes he flexes his muscles as a sleepy gesture to bring life into them but by the time he would manage to sit up, Alfred is behind him; swiftly slipping under the warm blanket and as if it was the most natural thing to do he puts his arm around Arthur’s middle and shifts close. Right behind him, holding him against his own figure and sniffs into the nape of his neck.

His palm opens and his fingers caress the skin through the white tank top; behind half-closed eyelids Arthur represses the desire to arch against the touches when Alfred spreads his fingers and takes a deep breath right from Arthur’s hair.

In a few seconds they established an entirely comfortable position which is perfect for both of them... incredible, unbelievable, unmistakable. Alfred’s arm rests on his side and since the young man is just as exhausted and sleepy as Arthur is, his fingers stroke little circles through the fabric with slowing motions. Gradually he signs Arthur to lift his head up a little so he can stretch his arm out and Arthur can use his upper arm as pillow.

The fact that Alfred is actually there and not only in his dreams hits Arthur like a pang in his chest; his eyes open and widen at the same second and he gasps, “Alfred?”

The other only grunts his reply.

“Alfred we have to talk about something,” he wants to turn around but the young hero whimpers like a hurt toddler (and tightens his hold on Arthur’s stomach) and the Englishman freezes in shock. He never expected to hear such a voice from a grown-up man.

A few moments pass until Arthur composes himself again, “Alfred, I have been thinking and... I have a question from you.”

“Can’t it wait till the morning...?”

“No, please answer.”

“Mh.”

“You said you were twenty, right?”

The young man nods and hums, “Ye’ right. Can I sleep?”

“Wait, emm...” the blonde frowns in hesitation. He doesn’t want to be too straight-forward or abrupt but he barely has any other choice... Alfred doesn’t cooperate the way he expected. “And... since, how long have you been twenty?”

The question confuses the sleepy hero. He frowns; he is actually disturbed in his exhausted state of mind and this makes him feel a bit grumpy but he swallows and clears his thoughts. He would rather bite his own tongue than say something that might hurt Arthur’s feelings.

“Let me count.”

The moment he pronounces this, Arthur trembles and of course Alfred soothingly strokes his skin a few times. The more seconds he spends thinking and counting, the more anxious his friend becomes.

“Four... four of five...” _dear god...._ “four or five...” his voice is so raw, so sleepy, he yawns because he is unable to fight it but Arthur is on the edge. He can’t stop his thoughts. Years? Decades? _Centuries?_ He can’t bear it, he squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head, grasps and holds Alfred’s fingers tight. He knew... he felt it inside... “months... since it’s November and my birthday is in July,” he frowns again and with a sleepy grunt, shifts to have a more comfortable position for his shoulder. “Why are you asking?”

Arthur is left being even more perplexed than before, it takes a few moments to compose himself and take a hold on his previous thoughts, “I was wondering. I don’t know anything about you.”

Frankly, he just wants to slap himself in the face. How could he assume such nonsense about Alfred?! That he would have the longevity of Captain America?

“Ah right, the ‘take it slow’ part... can we be so slow to continue this in the morning?”

Again, there is a silence between them. Alfred wants to sleep, Arthur fights his own exhaustion; his mind races regardless of its own need to rest. He was on the wrong path again, he misinterpreted something, there was an error in his process. He is losing it, still he has it all. Alfred is right behind him, his body against his, arms wrapped casually around him providing absolute protection and the freedom of his own space still suddenly he feels alienated from the young man. He doesn’t know anything.

He tries to force his mind into sleep no matter how hard it is. The lights penetrating from the street hurt his eyes even through his closed eye lids. The sounds coming from the streets, the disturbingly yellow, artificial light that comes from the lamp resonates its way into his mind.  He sighs and has the urge to turn around, to turn from this irritating brightness.

Shifting he feels the weight of Alfred’s arm change on his side; the man is fast asleep and lies behind him unconscious; he won’t lift his arm to help him but then again if he turns around he’s going to face him...

Shiver runs through his back and his arms. He’s not ready for that. Not yet.

Instead he turns onto his back and pulls Alfred’s arm on his stomach where is originally was, another pillow under the blanket; the man’s skin is warm and smooth, his fingers mindlessly move at some points with gentle caresses which remind Arthur constantly of his close presence. The light leaves his peripheral sight too as he faces the young hero.

Without the glasses, he’s only an innocent, ambitious boy. And he is gorgeous at that.

...

The morning is lazy. Arthur wakes with Alfred half on top of him, his nose in the crook of his neck.  The scent, the warmth and the weight on his own body is overwhelming; even though his mind is slowly crawling into consciousness he knows it’s too much. He’s being strangled and comforted at the same time.

As much as he tries to protest it is just as hypocritical; he likes being under Alfred’s weight no matter how ridiculous it is. The hero of the night makes little noises as he breaths, he has tiny moans and soft noises coming from this throat as if he was nagging for something while his mind also recognizes the urge to wake sometimes he moves his hand up and down on Arthur’s sides. It’s merely a change of angle; he never stops holding him.

From where did this affection come from?

Arthur makes a face as the young man’s hair tickles his nose.

. . .

The breakfast is a bit awkward again but somehow Arthur starts to get used to the feeling. He grumbles little insults at Alfred as the spectacled man mocks him; yes, the toast is burned and it’s unrecognizable. It is a toast, though. Anyway, it’s Alfred’s fault, he was the distraction.

Moments of restless planning pass insufficiently. The blonde has no idea how to start, when and with which question. He’s picky with his breakfast compared to Alfred who is gladly consuming the contains of his plate, drinks milk from the glass and hums to a song which plays in his head. He has no shirt on but Arthur believes this is just as normal to the young man as tying shoelaces to others.

He watches the brown, blue and soft pink injuries on his skin. He has many on his upper arms, one above his heart... his knuckles are reddened. He’d been in a fight again and undoubtedly he is in slight pain but he doesn’t seem to notice it... but Arthur does.

He wasn’t this observant the last time when they had breakfast.

He bits his own lip in hesitation; he wants to ask so terribly the words are almost burning his throat.

He puts the fork down and sighs; reactions that draw Alfred’s attention immediately. Sparks of interest, curiosity and a glimpse of surprise light up in his eyes.

“What happened last night?”

The spectacled blonde is startled for a moment, “erm... nothing special.”

“For you, being in a fight is ‘nothing special’?” The Englishman raises an eyebrow, his reaction is followed by Alfred’s, rolling his eyes.

“Come on, those guys didn’t even know how to fight normally. They were just trying to hit me but they didn’t know how to aim or hit with force or anything. Amateurs,” he smiles proudly and bites into the burnt toast.

“I hope I haven’t misunderstood you; are you seeking trouble out there or opportunity to save people?”

“It’s not that simple.”

That is the first time Arthur feels an urge to argument with his own saviour but he swallows it before saying something he would regret. Frowning, he glances on the bruises and shakes his head.

“Do you even know what you are doing?”

That certainly hurt the other’s ego; his eyes widen and with a frown he leans forward, “do I look like those people in the movies, Arthur? I don’t. I don’t have those cool stuffs or anything, I can only do what a normal person could do in those situations. Yes I walk on the streets and when I see something I intervene but if you would have listened to me you would already know what’s going on and you wouldn’t assume that I’m an idiot.”

“I haven’t said that you were an idiot, you said this yourself about yourself, Alfred and that is a huge difference. I’m merely saying that for me, for an outsider you seem to be a bit...”

“Outsider?” The shock and disbelief is almost tangible; it’s radiating from the man’s whole being. He puts his elbow on the table and points at Arthur to emphasize his words, “I have been telling you things, ever since the beginning. Yesterday I have been talking to you, for hours. I thought you would listen, you are not an outsider anymore.”

This is outraging. It boils inside of Arthur’s chest and suddenly it wants to burst out but it’s way too sudden even for that. His breaths are heavier and faster, his eyes angrily avoid the sight of the man in front of him no matter how hard it is. He missed it all, he was listening but not to the important things...? Of all those chattering and storytelling what could have been the important part?

He is about the give up. Leaning back in the chair he takes his cup of tea into his hand and sighs. It is hard to keep a calm facade since he is fully aware of the fact that Alfred reads him as if he was an open book in front of him. The shot of glare from those icy blue eyes hit him like electricity; disappointment leaves no light inside. It is dry and cold.

Maybe he’s just not the one he hoped for. Perhaps this is still too fast. The attraction and trust is hasted.

The silence is unbearable. The thoughts, the images and all connotations are about Alfred in his mind. The utterance of his name is on his tongue. He want to speak up, reach out and try again. The plain sight of this unspoken distance is crushing.

His own desperation makes him sick. The words, the expressions, phrases, all he read and memorised are useless because in one situation when he is supposed to find the right way of communication, he fails. He wants to make it right and for once, act by instinct. He doesn’t know what to reply, too many things are whirling inside to express.

He leans in and grabs the man’s wrist when he notices the slightest shift in his posture. By no way, he is not letting him go. Forest green eyes stare into ocean blue ones, determination crashes with silent refusal.

He utters the first words he finds on his tongue.

“Show me.”

At this point, Alfred just cocks an eyebrow and hums.

“Show me your way,” the seconds grow, the quietness of the other is suffocating. It can’t be helped. “Show me because I’m not letting you walk away just like that.”

Their eyes are locked. The closed gate in the blue trembles but it’s still held up tightly by the weakening confusion inside. For the split of the second Arthur has to recollect the emotions that nearly make him stutter.

“If you dragged me into this then you’re going to show me how it is. I won’t stay at home like a housewife or a... hot-water bottle in the bed. You have to show me and bring me along.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” the spectacled shakes his head with empty determination.

“Yes you will, Superman. Now let’s get going, you were blabbering about a place where you practice.”

Without letting his hand go Arthur stands up, still a bit shaken. He watches the changes on Alfred’s expression; the soft, worrying manner his eyes are filling with deep consideration. He is lingering on the moment, hesitating between decisions that he has to make so suddenly, alone.

“Come on, Alfred. You said you need help in something too. Let’s get going.”

Finally, the dark-blonde answers, “I’m not sure,” but he doesn’t pull his hand away. Frowning, scratching the back of his head, licking and biting his lower lip, oh, Arthur sees all the signs of embarrassment and perplexity. He wishes he could help and give a little push but before he would say something, Alfred begins, “I have trouble with controlling this, but I can take you to the practice field.”

“That’s not a bad start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we truly begin. I had to go slow like this so it has the proper background (I could have gone even slower but I want to get to the real story so you guys will probably enjoy this already). This is the last slow-ass chapter. Thank you for sticking with me. :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before reading notes: un-beta’d, re-read few times, slept on, drooled on. Proceed.

The practice field was out of the town near to the industrial district. Arthur expects it to resemble an abandoned storage or some kind of an old building but in fact Alfred drives to the emergency fire station of the area. He parks the car among the firemen’s vehicles and gets out without saying a word. On their whole road he preferred to remain silent and until now it hasn’t bothered the blonde that much but now it becomes apparent.

The spectacled young man takes the lead again and walks straight in the garage of the station where he greets a few people, introduces Arthur and with an awkward curl on his lips that is either a smile or a nervous biting of his own lip, he walks away. For a few moments Arthur is puzzled then with a shake of head he follows Alfred.

. . .

Actually, the fire station is not the place where Alfred is taking him. It is behind the fire station, an old building, the previous fire house that still has the tubes, the heavy equipment and even an old car in the parking lot. He watches the dust on the rusty piles, a whole lot of tires, the growing grass between the stones and blocks of asphalt when the creaking sound of the door draws his attention. The place reeks of oil, rust and devastation.

Alfred enters the building and Arthur follows suit, his eyes drinking the sight of ruins. Old, yellow pictures on the walls depict the heroes of months from many years ago, posters of models are greeting from past decades, the walls are cracked and smell of bats and mice. His eyes notice a clean spot in the left corner right beside another pile of car tires; there is a chair with a bag and a carton box. That particular spot is dusted and there is cushion on the chair.

The hero steps forward, shrugs with his hands in his pockets and looks around. This is it. No fancy box sacks, no weights, no benches or clean bathroom. He has the pile on which the fire fighters came down to the garage and as a demonstration he jumps and grabs it to pull himself up with his hands in less than three seconds. He climbs onto his feet and clears his throat, now looking down from the second floor to Arthur who is still amazed by the whole sight. He has no words to describe the way he feels; nostalgia, empathy, excitement mix in his chest.

“Sorry, I have no playboy girl to serve drinks but in that box there is some coke if you’re thirsty. Upstairs is also safe; there are a few chairs and a desk as well.”

The young friend of his is not listening for the time being and Alfred has to smile at the dreamy expression on Arthur’s face.

The smell of the building reminds him of the times he spent alone back in England, in the old part of the school’s backyard. There was a little house where the maintainer of the school kept the broken chairs and benches and as the decades passed by, nature began to re-conquer the abandoned space. Arthur was the only disturbance in the peace of the animals and plants; he found his own place to rest and read, play with his imaginary friends and hide from the real world that he refused to face outside. His secret life, in which he could climb up on the stacks of chairs and sit on the top, and read in calmness and pleasant loneliness where no one would find and disturb him. He never thought of bringing anyone to his world, he never had anyone to share with. Even if he had had such a good friend, he would have hesitated on introducing it to a stranger.

This old firehouse was Alfred’s place. As the other slides down on the pile and jumps beside him Arthur looks in his eyes and for a moment, he’s flattered. He glances away but upon feeling his friend’s close presence he looks up again and meets his gaze filled with warmth, trust and endearing. This is Alfred. This is his place.

“So? What do you think?” The young man beams proudly as if this whole building was his own achievement and at this, the Englishman has to chuckle.

“Fascinating indeed, Alfred.”

“Would you like to see something awesome?”

“Do I have a choice?”

The young hero makes a face and shrugs, admitting the implied meaning with a smile, “nah, not really.” He takes his jacket off and throws it on the chair before turning back to the blonde, “alright, this is where I usually practice and the thing is, I am a bit scared of using my full strength since if I hit a little bit harshly, the whole building crumbles.”

Arthur cocks and eyebrow and folds his arms which betray his stoic beliefs but at this point Alfred’s enthusiasm are unbreakable; he walks outside with Arthur following him and he motions towards the car.

“Please sit on top of it,” Arthur’s bafflement is almost expected so Alfred repeats the request and watches his friend do as he asked even though Arthur’s lack of excitement is somewhat frustrating for the young American. He runs back for a pair of heavy gloves which are used by workers whose hands are to be protected from rough surfaces and this puzzles Arthur even more. It is obvious that Alfred wanted to do something around the car but he had no idea, why did he have to sit on top of it.

Upon returning and applying the gloves, Alfred stretches his arms a little and moves his shoulders around.  “Alright. Don’t be scared, I did this countless times and I think this is the best way to show you a bit of this thing.”

“What?”

There’s no way to turn back now, the only thing Arthur can do is press his butt to the top of the old rusty car and pray for his life. His fingers begin to be white from holding on the dusty and dirty surface so hard, when Alfred squats beside the car and all of sudden, lifts it.

He releases a surprised yelp and with unsure motions, tries to grab anything that comes to his fingers to regain his balance. He is being lifted with the car and he is around ten or eleven feet high in the air. His whole body trembles, when he hears Alfred from the ground.

“It’s alright, I got you!”

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“You see now? I can lift this car and even heavier cars than that!”

He wants to yell at him for all of this; just put him down, alright he understands, it’s amazing, can he be on the ground again?.. but the car isn’t shaking or trembling underneath him. It is only him who is being frightened and as the seconds grow into a minute, Arthur releases the flexing of his muscles in his shoulders and arms. Alfred holds him and the car steadily, waiting for Arthur’s reaction or whatever, Arthur has no idea. Slowly and carefully he manoeuvres himself a bit towards him and looks down from the roof, only to meet a pair of vivid, cheerful eyes filled with hope and satisfaction.

He is so proud, it’s written on his face, on his whole posture. He’s radiating self-confidence and pride as he stands with a car and Arthur in his hands as if it was the carton box in the garage.

“I got you, Arthur.”

Indeed he does.

. . .

Not only can he lift cars or huge piles of car tires; he can throw stones into such distances that Arthur wonders if the stone hit someone or a car. The whole idea of this strength seems unbelievable. Alfred didn’t seem to look like a body builder; he has muscles and he is working out but lifting two tons that easily is not a result of simple work out. Arthur frowns, looks for solutions in his mind and remains speechless as he watches his saviour lifting the tires that he tied on a pile so now he can exercise as if it was an over-sized weight. He is lying on the floor on his back and Arthur sits a few meters far on the chair in the corner. He’s been doing that for a while... watching Alfred, creepy as it sounds.

Alright, he has to admit this whole scene was unexpected. From that point he has a fancy view on the other’s body. It can’t be helped, he can’t tear his eyes off the man’s arms, his chest, his abs and the rhythmic tightening and flexing of his muscles. The air he breaths out comes in small puffs, he is concentrating and counting in his head since he stated that he can do three hundred lifts with eight car tires. Altogether he lifts two Arthurs three hundred times. And he is getting sweaty.

In general Arthur had no idea what to bring along and now he misses his backpack that he brings for work. He had a pack of clothes to change, a towel and some emergency food he would need... and he had a book in there. If he knew Alfred’s going to give him a demonstration of his masculinity, he could just have brought his book along as well.

He still has troubles looking away from the other’s direction. Alfred’s shirt is damped, the drips of sweat shine on his hair and on his arms as he moves them again and again in the same way. It seems there is nothing that could break this exercise... until Arthur opens a bottle of Coke and Alfred’s focus is shattered.  He practically drops the weight beside him and gets up with a pout on his face as he sees Arthur drinking from the bottle. He expected the blonde to open that for him.

The look on his face and in his eyes make Arthur roll his own eyes and reach for another bottle of Coke which cheers the young hero up in an instant, “thanks! I was getting thirsty.”

As they drink quietly, Arthur notices a few signs that tell many things at once. There is another spot at the wall that he didn’t notice before; the layer of dust and dirt is thinner and there are no stones that fell from the wall which means that a larger object had been there for quite a long time, but was put there after the building was abandoned. Maybe a huge box. There is a wide corrie in the wall on the other side that starts from one spot, as if someone tried to put a nail in the wall but it the bricks and the cement is way too old, it cracked and now the whole wall looks like a shallow crater.

Just how vehemently did someone try and hammer that nail? Or was it only Alfred?

“Arthur, I would like you to tell your opinion.”

The shorter blonde’s thoughts are cut and he has to recollect his mind for an answer.

“Well, I’m not a coach.”

“Still.”

The blonde tilts his head on the right and frowns slightly, “I’m not a coach, okay?”

“I got that the first time too, smartass, now, tell me!”

“Well, uh—“ Arthur shrugs and looks for the right words to save himself; he wasn’t paying any attention on Alfred’s work, rather on the view of his work no matter how embarrassing it was. He licks his upper lip and shrugs again but when he glances up on his friend’s face and sees a devious grin, he snaps, “what?! You said you need help and then just brought me here and didn’t tell me anything, what am I supposed to do?”

“I thought you were watching the way how I practice but it turned out I only gave you a whole cinematic experience.”

From where did that phrase come so suddenly? So diplomatically?

“I... ah, I mean, I—“ he feels his ears burn and it’s definitely not a good sign, the way Alfred smiles, knowingly and understandingly, is certainly not a good sign either. He waves with his hand a little before Arthur would have a harsher comeback.

“No need to say anything. I’ll just tell you. I find it way too easy to practice on weight and lifting stuff, throwing stuff, and I have no one to practice fighting. I tried going to gym and look for someone but I’m way too strong.”

“Do you—“ the blonde frowns again but his thoughts are cut off.

“No, I don’t mean to attack or hurt you. I’m asking, if you want to learn how to defend yourself? Because, by teaching someone I could re-learn the basics of fight as well. My style is based on defence; I rarely attack but dodge and turn it against the attacker. I thought... “ here he scratches the back of his neck and avoids Arthur’s gaze which betrays how long he has been considering the whole idea, and bringing it in front of the other. He also bits his lip and for a second only glances back at the anticipating green eyes. “I thought, I could teach you how to fight. I’ll use different materials so I can exercise as well, and we will start with the basics. The very basics.”

He seems so considerate, thoughtful and tender with his plan. He holds his hands around Arthur by now, as if he tried to comfort him and give him reassurance by holding his shoulders, not knowing anything about his effects on Arthur’s body. The short distance between them is arousing and too much at the same time and it takes actual effort for the Englishman to concentrate on the issue. His hands are warm and stabile; this simple gesture betrays his emotions and Arthur has to compose himself. Alfred was worried about him, again. Basically, he was worried about him since they met, that’s why he would like to involve Arthur in his exercising...

A sudden realization, that Alfred thought he was weaker than the rest of the people, makes Arthur frown and look in the other’s eye with well hidden annoyance, “I can fight if I want, I was very good at it but then I fell out of shape and that one was way too sudden and they caught me off guard—“

“I know Arthur, I know!” Alfred leans in closer and tries to get Arthur’s attention on himself again, only at himself but his words fuel the flame even more.

“How could you know? You haven’t known me just for two months!”

The reasonable anger is too strong in Arthur’s green eyes even though Alfred doesn’t let him go anywhere; he holds his upper arms firmly to keep him close, just enough to direct his focus on himself again.

“I saw you when you were already on the ground, I saw how you protected yourself. When they hit and kicked you, you were covering your vital spots on your body with the posture that showed that... you had been there before. You knew how to protect your head and your insides.”

“I’ve never been beaten openly before.”

The statement is cold, rigid. It meets disbelief and brings back heavy memories for the two to handle, both have to avert their gazes for a few moments. Arthur fights with the images and sounds that came into his vision; dark flashes of hands, boots and laughing faces which makes him flinch and being glad that Alfred is there to draw him closer to himself. The hero is deeply in thoughts as well.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up that harshly,” he whispers, comfortingly hugging Arthur to himself for a few moments before caressing his back and without noticing it, he is gently nuzzling at the other’s hair.

The words come by themselves and his soft utterances are melted in Alfred’s shirt and he swallows heavily when even he is unable to say it out.

“I have been attacked before but not by... that many, and in that way. It’s was different. I can protect myself against one or two, but...” he doesn’t know how to continue, he just shrugs and prefers to hug Alfred back for the short moments of weakness. “I can help you. I would like to get back in shape.”

The hope lights up in the young hero’s eyes and he wishes to look in the mesmerizing green eyes but the way Arthur hugs him makes it impossible. His arms are around his back and holding onto his shoulders while his cheek peacefully rests on Alfred’s shoulder for the time being. It is soothing for both of them; Alfred’s brows knit in pain as he remembers the night when he rushed to save Arthur. He wants Arthur to be strong and judging from the other man’s words, to be strong _again_ , but he has another feeling growing in his heart that he hasn’t felt before, ever in his life.

He pushes the Englishman away just to hold him by his shoulders again and with a bright beaming smile on his lips, he motions towards the tires with his hand, “well then, let’s get started with the training and see how your old muscles are doing.”

The look in Arthur’s eyes darkens for a moment as he grabs Alfred’s shoulder a bit roughly and with serious determination, he narrows his eyes, “back off. When I’ll be in shape again, I’m going to kick your butt before you say ‘Coke’ out loud.”

Alfred has to smirk at that.

“That’s the spirit.”

He offers a high-five and Arthur accepts it, though he finds it awkward.

. . .

By the time they get home, both of them feel drained; their muscles and bones are screaming for rest. There’s no time or energy wasted as they quickly have a shower; while Arthur is in, Alfred prepares some light dinner. No movies, no discussions for that evening. Alfred hesitates on going for his usual walk as well; he’s exhausted to the point that when he lies between the sheets and closes his eyes, the only motion he can make is stretch his right arm so Arthur can use is as a pillow beside him. The soft embrace of the duvet and Arthur is tranquilizing.

The cat disturbs their peace only. Cookie has been alone the whole day and in the evening, he’s hungry and Alfred forgot to give him food. Arthur’s the one who gets up and replace the tired hero, even though he himself is a bit dizzy and unfocused. He stumbles his way back to the bed and let himself fall beside Alfred to casually put his left arm around the man’s chest when he turns towards him. They had a busy day... Arthur’s strength is far from the one Alfred possesses but for an average man, he’s doing well. It might take a month or two to bring his memories back about fighting and make him an equal to his friend, but they both know it’ll worth it. Without saying it out loud, Arthur knows they’ll meet during the week as well and practice, he decided to exercise at home as well... on the days he’s not meeting the spectacled hero, he will pick jogging as his new hobby.

There is only one rule that Alfred emphasized and asked him to respect.

He doesn’t want anyone to know about his power and his mission until he’s ready... and as Alfred worded it, he’s far from facing the public or from daring to wander into the military’s area, even in theory. He’s strong, but not strong enough. He wants to save people, but he is not ready. All he asks for is patience and for Arthur to be secretive about the issue.

In silence, Arthur examines the young man’s face, his cheeks, the closed eyelids and the peaceful expression. He’s sleeping after a hard day’s work, his breaths are quiet and relaxed and he’s already on the land of dreams, judging from the slow rhythm of rise and fall of his chest. The last glimpse of his consciousness fades when his caressing on Arthur’s skin slows and ceases, and the blond man smiles under his nose.

He has to stay quiet...

Alfred gave him a brand-new life. He has a new start, a person to share his experiences from now on, and a chance to prove. They are very much alike. More than Arthur wants to admit to himself, but the sudden wave of happiness that fills his entire being upon being so close to Alfred and having the opportunity to be his partner on his adventures, makes him restless. He moves his hand quietly to caress the man’s cheek fondly with his index finger and upon the feeling of the other’s skin he has to smile to himself and squeeze his eyes shut.  

As he falls asleep, his thoughts, his nose and his dreams are full of the person lying beside him. His scent, his simple touch on his skin along with the promises of the new life fills him up to the deepest corner of his heart, lights it up, it leaves a tingling resonance. He’s surrounded by Alfred and as his own mind is sinking lower in the depths of dreams, he clings even closer. He’s rejuvenating beside him and Alfred is just sleeping, not knowing about anything but breathing into Arthur’s hair and just being himself... warm, safe and trusting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be punished for the amount of cuddling and fluff I can write in one single story.  
> How did you like it?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update ahead! – more than 10 pages long in length, I hope it won’t scare you... but I also hope it’s worth reading. I love writing it so much that I couldn’t stop and I didn’t know where to cut this into two, so I’ll post a double update instead. We also make a huge progress here with the boys, and I hope you’ll read it through. The second part comes soon, I’d like to sit on it for a few more days. :3 thanks!!

-

His consciousness notices the change of posture. During the night both of them moved from the initial position and for the one they have now, he has no excuse.  None of them have, but as usual, Alfred doesn’t seem to mind it at all, he’s hugging Arthur’s side and silently caresses his skin with tender strokes. He’s not even paying attention, sighs and clears his throat every now and then before slipping back into sleep for some time as opposed to Arthur who is wide awake and fights his inner turmoil.

Alfred has been a mere stranger to him two months ago. Then, in those said two months the young man wasn’t even in his environment. He appeared again three days ago and as if he has always been by Arthur’s side their domestic comfort just continued; they sleep together, prepare meal together and are far more intimate than they should be. Even though they didn’t have sex, Arthur is more than convinced about the fact that their relationship is not average. Alfred’s shirtless sleeping figure has become way too normal for him although the hardships of sleeping alone make him frown. His hand which rests on the middle of the man’s chest tightens into a fist. He’s confused; their mutual affection is too sudden on the one hand, on the other it is natural.

He has never felt the urge so instinctively to keep someone close and make sure of their comfort and well being.

And here he is, his head on Alfred’s shoulder, hand resting above his heart and his leg...

Blood rushes to heat his cheeks and his ears in embarrassment as he realizes. His feet are tangled with Alfred’s and his knee is between his partner’s thighs. His mind realizes that the soft warmth radiating from the area above his knee is indeed Alfred’s crotch and this causes such an amount of shame for his prudish mind that he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a few seconds. And Alfred is just lying on his back, hugging him and simply enjoys the time they spend in the bed. Shamelessly. Scandalously.

For a good half an hour they share the pleasure of silent relaxation, then Alfred shifts and presses a kiss into Arthur’s hair as greeting. The blonde decides to stay passive; he is not sure if he should return the gesture or reject it. His blush is still present and it makes the whole situation worse: he doesn’t want Alfred to see him like that, but being so close and practically half on top of the man means obvious defeat.

It is a nice Sunday morning and he definitely had to ruin it for himself with all these thinking.

“I have to go home in the evening,” he states coldly.

It seems, he just ruined the morning for Alfred too. The man sighs and groans as if he was suffering from pain, covers his eyes for a few seconds and before Arthur could react, the young man turns to hug him and bury him under his figure within his crashing bear hug. “No, no, no. I don’t want that.”

He is heavy on top of him but the previous tangled position of their legs makes this more embarrassing for Arthur as it should be; he feels warmth flow into his loins and immediately tries to push Alfred away. The blue-eyed man frowns and keeps him close in attempt to keep Arthur only for himself; his childish affection is somehow endearing but... his weight on top of Arthur, his well-built figure and the firm muscles under his skin causes an unexpected arousal from the blonde.

“Please, let me go,” his own muffled voice sounds just as desperate as he is but he can’t help putting his arms around the other’s back either; spreading them on the sheets is more uncomfortable.

“But will you come over around the weekend again?”

“Yes, sure, just let me go please...”

“Dude, I had morning woods too, don’t even mention it.”

But that was not a simple morning wood and Arthur is suddenly relieved to have Alfred in this sweet oblivion. The hero of the night yawns as he pushes himself up and tries to stretch his arms out but this causes him to yelp in the sudden pain he feels. “Crap.”

. . .

Their bodies ache from soreness. They groan, moan and suffer together from the pain, their muscles deny every move they wish to make. After a few attempts to dress up properly but falling back in the sheets in pain, Alfred laughs at his own dorky failures. The laugh causes another wave of pain so he groans and laughs again, hugging his own stomach to calm his muscles inside; Arthur merely shakes his head in disapproval but he doesn’t notice the tiny smile on his lips. They are hopeless. It takes long painful minutes to stand up, taking steps is another challenge they cross together. Slowly they make their way in the kitchen and Arthur takes the leftovers from the fridge.

They are ridiculous. Ridiculous idiots, walking in briefs around noon and suffering from their work-out. Arthur doesn’t even know when did he have such pains ever in his life.

“I’ll hit you,” he swears to his friend who is laughing again at his anger. “Goddamit Alfred, I’ll hit you! It was your idea!”

The young man covers his mouth but reaches to his shoulder to ease the soreness; even this move made him wince but he can’t stop chuckling at Arthur’s threat. It is a rigid promise of the future but somehow, no matter how cruel and ice-cold curses are aimed at him from those green eyes, he can’t take them seriously. He is sharing Arthur’s pain as well; they did exercises together but while Arthur lifted six pounds, he lifted two hundred.

“I’m not sorry,” he says, after swallowing the bit of his sandwich. The flame in Arthur’s eyes rages but Alfred just taps him on the shoulder, knowing that Arthur’s most aching parts are around there: his arms, his shoulders and the muscles around his spine. The impact makes the Englishman release a clearly undignified groan.

“If this is gone, I’ll come back and hit you.”

“Aye, Capt’n.”

“Don’t you dare laughing at me, Alfred!” Now the index finger is raised, signing utter annoyance and seriousness but the manner makes the spectacled hero chuckle; he leans back in his chair with a hearty laugh.

“That’s only the beginning, and it’s gonna hurt more if you don’t do anything. If you want it to be gone, you have to exercise again. It’s the beginning of the vicious circle. Also, if you’ll be strong enough, we can start the technical part too.”

“Can’t wait,” the blonde rolls his eyes and rubs his arms to ease the soreness a little.

The usual relaxed and spontaneous air settles in as they eat, again, Alfred is spacing out silently as he usually does in the mornings but the fact that he has to leave in the evening makes Arthur restless. He wants the time to pass by fast so he could quickly get over the separation; he doesn’t want any other awkward moments with the blonde... but he also knows Alfred is quite fond of him, he wouldn’t let him leave so suddenly.

. . .

Indeed, Alfred is a bit off that day but that doesn’t explain why Arthur feels agitated as well. He wanted to leave all day, he didn’t hide his annoyance and impatience when Alfred merely suggested to exercise in order to move their muscles a bit, to have the soreness gone sooner. Everything was bothering him all day and when the realization struck him around six in the evening, his guilt rushed  right into his heart and flooded his thoughts. He snapped at Alfred, frowned upon being addressed, urged the man to be faster even in the simplest actions (washing dishes or settle for a movie),  grunted and nagged at the smallest thing they had to do.

By the time of his departure, Arthur feels unbearable guilt. The man has been nothing but tolerant, helpful and kind to him, so kind that the blonde believes he wouldn’t be able to return it in any way possible. Even now, Alfred is asking what shift he has on the days and when would it be convenient to meet.

Convenient. Agreed upon by both members, not to cause any kind of disturbance in the slightest.

He is gentle, tender and caring to him... it’s too much again. He doesn’t know if he deserves it at all.

He doesn’t understand his own heart anymore. He wanted to get away the whole day, escape and not even see Alfred but when the time approaches and they are dressing at the door and Alfred checks if the cap he wears is neat, Arthur is pulling the seconds to last longer. He fumbles with his shoelaces, lingers on their reflection in the mirror and spots Alfred’s dreamy smile. The man is sleepy, his gaze is sparkling in an emotion Arthur cannot describe but he feels it on himself, his entire body and inside of his chest. Alfred sees him, looks through his childish disguises and merely smiles. Upon meeting their eyes, the American hums and reaches for the doorknob.

“Wait.”

The young man cocks an eyebrow and glances back to the other and Arthur is at the loss of words for a few moments. The seconds pass by idly, biting into his own lips the Englishman is unsure of what exactly had he wanted to say.

He is glad Alfred is not trying to ease the tense air between them; knowing that it is hard enough to find an excuse for slowing them down, his mind haphazardly puts together a coherent reply before admitting his own stupidity. His apology would be just as awkward as he has to clear his throat before speaking up.

“I... I think I have a morning shift on Wednesday. I get out at one o’clock,” he explains, rubbing his jacket at his upper arm for no particular reason. When he realizes it, he draws his hands away and quietly nods, since Alfred is not moving and not saying a word either. “Or, maybe Tuesday or Thursday when I have afternoon shift and get out at six... but then I’d have to go to sleep early to wake up for the morning shift,” he rather goes on, just to break this silence and pull a proper response out of his friend.

“Well, I can come and pick you up on Wednesday. We could go and practice a little.”

Finally. He nods and makes a mental note to remember to bring extra sandwich and clothes to work on Wednesday.

 . . .

“Are you going tonight?”

“Mhm.”

There is a few moments of silence, only the noise of the engine and the windshield wiper breaks the stillness.

“Take care.”

He gains only a nod as an answer and for the split of the second Arthur is afraid; maybe he went too far that day. Maybe he was way too harsh.

But then Alfred turns to him with a bright smile on his lips and with the same enthusiasm from the morning, he lifts his thumb up, “no worries. I can handle it.”

With a tiny smile on his lips, Arthur nods and opens the door of the car and gets out. The young man doesn’t look back at him but leaves him on the street right in front of the apartment complex’s door.

Arthur is not greeted or welcomed by anyone upon arriving to the place he is forced to call ‘home’ for the time being. His room is cold, abandoned and in the same state he left it on Friday morning. His bed is cold, it takes several minutes until it warms up to give him a small glimpse of comfort, nothing to compare to the contentment and peace he felt at Alfred’s place. No one is behind him, no one holds him close and no one fills his heart with the blessed relief of having someone close. The cold fact of being alone is piercing; no matter how he hugs his own self or stuffs a pillow behind his back, it’s all the same. The small puffs of air at the nape of his back are absent along with the weight of Alfred’s arm, his palm is not giving him soothing strokes on his skin and his entire being is missing from the image that with a torturous slowness, has burnt itself into Arthur’s unconscious.

He is frowning and throws insults at himself for being a shameful teenager in mind, who’s in the illusion of being in love.  With a man he barely knows.

For several minutes he is staring in the empty dark space but his mind returns to Alfred again and again. The separation wasn’t as hard as he thought... and he ruined the whole day because he was so desperate to avoid the confrontation of his own feelings, and now he is fighting his way into sleep without his partner. He was beyond being pathetic.

. . .

In order to make up for his selfish behaviour, Arthur prepares scones for Wednesday and doesn’t forget to go jogging on Monday and Tuesday evening. The distance he takes is short but he doesn’t want to push himself too hard, he is not a teenager anymore.

Wednesday arrives with the frozen sunshine of the mid- November mornings but that doesn’t fade any of the Englishman’s hopes for the afternoon. As promised, Alfred takes him to the practice field and they spend the afternoon there before heading back to the spectacled man’s apartment.  They made quite a progress again; Alfred has been lifting weight and did some push ups with Arthur sitting on his back while the blonde was lifting the small portion of weight he has been assigned to (by Alfred). Then, after several repetitions of series of exercises, Alfred proudly announced that if they could manage to keep up this work, Arthur could actually join him in his patrol.

On the way back, Alfred munches the scones in such a rather satisfied and grateful manner that Arthur has never experienced from anyone before, therefore his eyes are glued on the young hero’s expressions. The spectacled asks if this is considered ‘delicious’ in England, and Arthur freezes for a few moments before averting his gaze and mumbling about ungratefulness and bloody Americans when the other chuckles and turns to him with an amused smile to inform him, if Arthur would make more of these next time, he would take them for snacks the next day to work. This makes the older man blush and grunt in reply.

The thought, the casual mention of accompanying Alfred stuck in the slightly smaller man’s mind and haunts him on the entire way back to Alfred’s flat. His gaze wanders on the flashing images of houses that pass by; his unfocused stare only registers the district and the lack of sunlight on the streets as time goes on. The fog settles around the buildings as the roads radiate the warmth of piles from the inside and from the ground, drawing dim shadows of the people on the streets. It’s the evening, and Arthur sighs upon remembering that tomorrow he has a morning shift and has to leave early from Alfred’s place... it seems their minds are beyond connected since Alfred takes his hand into his own and mumbles something about dropping Arthur off at work in the morning.

Incredible. He is in between Arthur’s thoughts and the words he is about to say.

 To go on these walks with Alfred up to this point seemed to be a rebellious rage just to oppose the idea of staying at home while Alfred is out; he hasn’t considered the actual consequences of his enthusiasm. Of course, Alfred would like a partner on his walks. Of course, he would like someone to rely on, not a mere warm-water bottle that keeps the temperature of the bed comfortable. He doesn’t need anyone to make food for him or do his laundry; he is perfectly capable of doing that since he lives alone. He wanted someone who stays by his side.

. . .

That night after the patrol Alfred arrives home exhausted. He leans his back to the door and pants until his breaths calm; as if someone or something chased him home. Arriving to the scene from the bedroom Arthur frowns as the man silently walks up to him for an embrace that he is unable to deny; the torn expression of the other is unsettling. Something has happened but the young hero is not telling anything, only breaths into his neck and holds him tight to himself by his shoulders and his waist.

Arthur can’t wait to be stronger. He’d do anything to make his progress twice as fast.

For now, all he can do is pull the man close, let him breath into his neck and wait until the bespectacled calms his emotions. He is safe within Arthur’s arms, within his flat. He is home and Arthur’s soothing caresses on his back reassure him; he is not alone anymore.

He doesn’t have to handle this alone, even if he chooses to.

. . .

“I can’t wait for you to come with me.”

“Me either.”

There should be anticipation, cheerful excitement. Going on adventures together, spending time for a good cause and saving other people from trouble. Their tones should vibrate in the air, sending waves of thrill and energy to one and other. They should see the weak damp light of the light bulb as natural, not something disturbing and irritating. The silence in between is filled up by Alfred’s breathing and Arthur’s caresses in his hair. The blue-eyed man glances down, avoids the other’s sight, only to tell about his growing discomfort. Their intimacy is only a substitute of another activity; talking.

Arthur is waiting for him to start, Alfred hides his face in the other’s chest. It is late, almost two in the morning and both have to wake up early. Arthur will leave... and he won’t come back until the weekend, the thought is a heavy burden for his exhausted mind. Leaving Alfred in such state without discussing anything means nothing but pure betrayal for his heart.

“Alfred,” he mumbles; eyes clearly unable to stay open anymore. The light is piercing through his eyelids; it is burning his mind from the inside. It is too intrusive without Alfred’s blanket and his figure behind him but he cannot force himself to put the lights off. His voice is pleading for sleep, for peace and a revelation. He wants to hear it, he wants to sleep as Alfred tells him everything, listen to his voice and be surrounded by it, soaked up in it and sink deep.

“I caught a rapist.”

Arthur’s eyes widen, his mind snaps and suddenly he is awake. He looks down and looks for Alfred’s eyes but the man keeps them closed and sighs into Arthur’s chest. Swallows, tightens his lips and takes a weak, lagging breath. His insides tremble from the devastating emotions and all Arthur can do is hugging him closer. “I...” his vocabulary is not sufficient anymore. “God, Alfred. I’m sorry.”

“He’s with the police now,” he’s trying to reassure himself as well upon pronouncing it and Arthur only nods. The agony in the man is not easing and Arthur doesn’t know how to make him tell more. He must have seen something or heard something that stung deeply into his heart. He’s hugging Arthur close in such manner that the blonde is afraid the next step would be embracing and melting into Alfred, physically impossible closeness. Their legs are tangled again to gain more places for touches and Alfred lying in such a vulnerable, wounded and defeated state causes Arthur to sigh and close his eyes again. He is praying. _Please, God, let me help him._

“I never want to see anything like that again, but... I saved the girl. She still had some clothes on.”

There is a pause. At least the young man opened his eyes but only stares at Arthur’s bare skin before turning his head and bury himself under the touch of the other again, “I was so angry. I just... shoved him off and punched him so hard he fell back and lied unconscious.” Shame and an inexplicable emotion prevent him bearing the sight of the other. On the inside he’s ashamed of his immense strength and now it’s crystal clear for Arthur to see, that he cannot and doesn’t want to hide anything in front of his partner anymore.

The muffled sound of his voice is only audible for Arthur, and only for him. If there had been other people present, Alfred would have just whispered it into his partner’s skin... and if he was alone... Arthur shakes his head a little before the tormenting images enter his mind.

“I don’t understand.. why would someone hurt another, innocent person? A girl? Walking home from work... why would someone...?” his ragged breaths are shaking Arthur’s soul, upon hearing them he brushes through the dark-blonde hair again with his fingers and soothes the hero in calming quietness, locking his arm around his head and press it into his chest to have him closer. Instinctively he wishes that hearing his heartbeat would help Alfred a little and since there is a brief moment of silence, he feels relief... but then the next confession is more bitter than expected.

“I don’t want this again. I don’t want to see this again.”

“What you did was heroic,” he utters with hope in his voice that it might help the other to settle his mind from this distress but in the split of the second Alfred frowns and raises in irritation to answer sternly—something that he’s never done before.

“No, it wasn’t.”

For seconds that seem like hours, both of them are silent. Alfred feels the discomfort and puzzlement from his friend and raises his head to look into Arthur’s eyes with plain confidence as he continues, “it wasn’t anything heroic. It was something that _everyone_ should do. It should be considered a normal reaction upon seeing something like that, but again, why does this have to happen in the first place?”

“There were always mentally ill people around, or those who thought themselves superior to others,” Arthur answers, which gives a logical explanation for the other, just for the time being. Arthur has the slight assumption inside, that Alfred has a tendency of lingering and wondering about the issues of the society.

“But I don’t want to be a ‘hero’ for something normal. I was there in the right time and place, that’s what happened, only. If she will look for me and say thank you, which she’ll obviously do, I’ll be startled. I never know how to reply to this gratitude,” he confesses, and meanwhile the blonde feels a bit of relief; at least Alfred is talking and makes eye contact with him again.

“Just tell me one thing Alfred. Except for the police, who are walking around in the middle of the night to protect these innocent people? Who are the ones, silently guarding the streets anonymously? Maybe I’m not well informed in this field, but I know only of you. And this _alone_ , makes you heroic above all. When others are sleeping, you are walking on the streets. You could stay home and play your video games but you decide to go on your free will.”

For the first time, Arthur is glad for the silence which settles between them. After a few seconds Alfred lies himself down on Arthur again into the same position where he was; his head on Arthur’s upper arm and his hands around the man’s sides, gladly taking the openness from the other as the blonde’s arms close comfortingly around him. He is quiet but the Englishman senses the lift of his mood; he’s merely deep in thoughts and needs some time to digest their conversation. The yellowish light of the lamp begins to be disturbing again for both of them; Alfred pulls the blanket on their shapes with his free hand, thus covers his own head with it, and Arthur’s figure up to his shoulder.

He chuckles when Arthur grabs his deodorant from the nightstand and throws is at the switch of the lamp which is beside the door on the opposite wall. He misses, but the next time he throws his wallet and the room suddenly falls into darkness.

Alfred falls asleep with Arthur’s gentle caresses in his hair and the Briton’s mind slowly sinks into unconsciousness as well. His thoughts are undoubtedly full of worry about his partner; knowing the fact that Alfred’s heart is quite sensitive for the job he chose, mentally Arthur begins to prepare his own self to be there for the young hero at all times and at all costs. Whatever this means.

He is convinced that Alfred is a real hero. After all the things he is doing for other people, sometimes he just wanders on the streets even though nothing in particular happens. He is out in the cold, in the snow and in the rain as well; no matter what it takes. Compared to his enthusiasm and willpower, Arthur is a wimp... many people are. On his free will, in his free time when he should be resting and collect his energies for the next day, Alfred is out... and Arthur is at home.

Guilt crawls its way into the British man’s heart and after several hard minutes, he wipes it aside as a disturbing thought rises in his mind again; he still doesn’t know anything about Alfred’s past. He only knows his own and he wishes, hopes and prays that Alfred will never find it out. They are sharp opposites in their motives towards society and only in this short amount of time, Alfred manages to turn Arthur’s indifference and neglect upside down... the blonde strives to be stronger to go and save people too.

Still... as long as he is close and he is capable of calming him, giving him reassurance and a sense of safety, Arthur will feel content. He is not leaving anytime soon...

In fact, Arthur decides that Alfred better gets some quality Earl Grey instead of the ones he has now; being stuck with an Englishman is not only about the scones.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the double update is here. Sorry it took a while, since I cut the long chapter into two, I lingered a bit on the second part before posting. Here it is! :3 I even expanded it a little bit, hope you like it. I’m curious of your opinions, this storytelling technique is an experiment for me (still).

. . .

Thursday evening and Friday morning means Arthur is jogging. For Friday he packs his bag full with clothes so he won’t have to borrow Alfred’s underwear and shirts anymore—although he has no intention to give back the ones he has at his flat already.  They are neatly folded and they are a great help when he is left to sleep alone.

The weekend passes without them noticing the time flying by; Alfred picks Arthur up and they go jogging together. On Saturday they spend their whole day on the practice field and they go back to Alfred’s place only in the evening, to have some light dinner and quickly fall asleep afterwards. On Sunday Alfred insists on jogging and taking a lazy walk in the park, and Arthur manages to calm his mind this time. He savours every minute he has with the young, energetic man.

They fall into a routine without any questions or doubts, a basic schedule that is never broken by either side of the parties; in fact they do their bests to make it work. Whatever is between them, Arthur feels an irresistible pull towards the man and thrives to be at their appointments at all cost; more than in all of his previous relationships.

The anticipation is tangible; Alfred keeps Arthur’s progress in check, gives him advice and suggestions every now and then, no matter how hard the other insists that he is perfectly fine on his own. At home, since in his mind Arthur invented a habit to call Alfred’s place ‘home’, they are functioning as flatmates who’ve been living together from ages, even though Arthur can sense a slight tension between him and Alfred. The spectacled man likes touching him, his arms and his sides and calls it “checking”, asks him if it hurts upon being pushed on the spot and Arthur raises his eyebrow upon answering. Since the other always wears a focused expression, he cannot decide if it’s a disguise or not. They secretly watch each other and Alfred likes to sit close to him, have their feet touching under the table. Their sleeping habit is pure mystery for the British man; he cannot give any reasonable explanation for that... but he cannot deny anything either. He likes it, he misses it and grew fond of it as well.

Only the cold fact, that he might need months to be able to actually accompany Alfred hits him hard enough to feel a bit distant from the other but as one and a half month goes by, he notices his strength growing as well.

. . .

For Christmas, Arthur goes back to England to his family but instead of feeling the usual anticipation to see his relatives, he is disheartened and becomes isolated quickly. Knowing that he didn’t make the expected success in the land of opportunities, his family considers him a kind of non-factor person. During his stay, Arthur has time to sink deeply into his thoughts, linger on his sentiments about Alfred and reveal several hidden facts about their relationship.

He cannot deny in front of his family that he ‘has someone’. Of course they ask questions but since not even Arthur has the answers, after a couple of attempts they withdraw and continue their celebration without him. The young man feels content by watching the falling snowflakes and the garden in its usual winter duvet, but when the night approaches he becomes restless. He counts the differences of time zones and wishes the bests for Alfred, for the night. Deep in his heart, Arthur feels uneasiness and fear, fear that Alfred falls ill while he is away or worse... that he will be hurt and he, Arthur, is not home to help.

Even though they message each other and Alfred reassures him that he is alright, Arthur can’t wait to go back to him. During this week the truth that he suspected for long has become clearer than the sunlight without being spoken out.

Alfred has no family. Since he picked an unusual hobby, he has no friends either.

Only Cookie, and Arthur.

.. .

The flight back is a torture, the traffic is worse than he remembered. Of course he packs his luggage out at his own flat (room), but on the spot fills his backpack and heads to Alfred without hesitation. He jogs even though there is a thick and dangerous layer of snow on the streets since his heart beats so ecstatically that he can’t slow his steps. His mind races, he imagines several scenes for their reunion but he is stuck with the hope that since it’s around 2 am, Alfred should be on his way home. If he is not back at his flat yet, Arthur decides to wait for him in the hallway. He is not going to walk home, he needs to meet Alfred, he needs to see him, after that one week of being away he feels desperate to be with the other man again.

The streets are empty, the apartment complex is silent. Having seen Alfred type the security code at the gate million times already, Arthur enters the key quickly and runs up the stairs, through the corridor and tries the door, rings the bell but no one answers.

Alfred is not home yet.

The young Englishman sighs and raises an eyebrow in annoyance but doesn’t abandon his plan; leaning his back to the wall he folds his arms and decides to wait until the hero arrives back. The minutes pass, his annoyance grows and melts away as he makes up more and more scenes how he will greet the bespectacled man. Later upon being settled he could make pancakes for him or a hot chocolate to warm both of them up after spending so much time outside. He creates hundreds of scenes how he’ll listen to the other as they share their stories of the week, and since both of them had long days, he would suggest to sleep soon.

Sleep.

Merely thinking about sleeping makes him close his eyes shut and soak into his memories, the surrounding presence of Alfred and the warmth that radiates from his body to envelope his entire being. His scent in the pillow and in the blanket draw a sentimental smile on his lips that he doesn’t even notice first, and he feels as from the inside his heart dances and warms his body up just from the affections of memories. His skin tingles from the inside as gentle electricity runs through his veins.

Merely an empty layer on him before, now his jacket resembles the softness of blankets, the wall behind him is the fragment of Alfred’s weight on his back. He shouldn’t, but he can’t help letting his mind slip into the fields of fantasies about their intimacy; their shared body heat warming the sheets, their skin touching and caressing one and other, as the night goes on, the positions they are taking... it’s tranquilizing and arousing at the same time.

He likes Alfred’s weight on himself. He likes his arms, his sides and his strong figure pressing against his own; feeling the man as he is, with the round and plain, soft and hard parts, the junctions, the bones and the muscles. The rhythmic sound of his breathing, his chest and his stomach rising and falling behind him or underneath him; when his mind shows pictures of seeing and feeling all these on himself, he releases a silent gasp. He’d hug him closer, pull him even closer and touch him everywhere, just get him as close as physically possible. His fingers would find their way everywhere, starting from the other’s hair to pull and get a hold on, to his shoulders and sides to give him short massages for his muscles; for him to feel, the other to ease.

But his desire is not fierce; he feels affection that he’s never felt before and he welcomes the feeling in his heart with admittance and fondness. His mind is aware of his surroundings and upon hearing the sound of shoes approaching from the stairs, he glances in the direction and sighs in relief. The ever-present knowing smile grows into a grateful one as he pulls himself up into a standing position and waves to greet the other.

Alfred has arrived home, at half past two in the morning, exhausted, sleepy and drained from his night-patrol. He merely stands for a few moments in the corridor as his mind takes in all he sees; Arthur has come back to him and waited for him to come home as well. He’s back from England and he is already there in front of his door, sleep deprived, having jet lag and being cold, but he is there. He’s been there, only for him and no one else.

Arthur smiles and awkwardly takes his gloves off just to spend the time somehow as Alfred walks up to him and looks directly into his eyes with such affection and thankfulness that the blonde feels heat rush into his cheeks. He feels the other’s breath on his skin, they are so close again but it doesn’t matter. The light in the baby-blue eyes is literally breathtaking, he stares in awe and it takes effort to tear his gaze away but that causes Alfred to frown in worry and lean in even closer, touch his hand with his own and take his hand into his palm.

Resisting the heavy pull of his heart and desire, Arthur lowers his gaze but unconsciously his eyes look at the man’s lips which embarrass him even more; his blush is burning from his inside and as he looks up into Alfred’s eyes again, he sees the same puzzlement. Their skins are almost touching, he feels the other’s body heat radiating and his breath is hot on his own lips. Their lust is palpable, overwhelming and piercing through their veins; their skins strive for being touched and taken and Arthur hears his own heart beating in his chest. Alfred’s lips are merely centimetres away and he can’t tear his gaze away from them, yet the knowing, passionate gaze of the other is also paralyzing.

The moment was determined to be broken.

Alfred decides to pull him close by his hips and hug him, press into him and hold him close again, just as Arthur remembers him doing it. His arms envelope the other’s figure, rest on his hips and his shoulder as he breaths into the blonde’s neck, filling his mind and lungs with the scent of chamomile and tea.  Alfred’s shoulders are hugged and Arthur’s face is buried into his neck just the same way. In the end, they haven’t spoken a word and Arthur is glad it happened this way. For the time being, he is full again.

He wonders, just why he hadn’t noticed in the very beginning, how gorgeous his saviour was in every single meaning of the word.

After being released, Alfred smiles and greets him verbally too.

“I’ve made some changes in the flat while you were away. I hope you’ll like them. Close your eyes, please.”

The exhausted Englishman sighs and frowns but nonetheless obeys the request, lets himself being led in the tiny space while he wonders, what kind of changes might have happened in that small apartment that Alfred lived in. Judging from the number of steps they stop at the door of the bedroom and the entrance of the living room (being at the same spot) and Alfred releases his hands.

Opening his eyes, Arthur gasps and for several moments remains speechless.

The room has been... filled up. There had been only one nightstand and no tallboy before... and since the room is so small, this small difference tells many things at once. Alfred has brought more furniture into his home, furniture which... is meant to be used by Arthur.

The shocked green eyes stare at the man in a mixture of disbelief and hope. Alfred brought furniture for him. To fill them up, to use them... Alfred wants him to stay and since he’s not good with words he chose a different way to tell. Even if it’s only a small wooden tallboy, has merely three boxes inside but the nightstand... from the implied meanings Arthur can merely stand and let the sudden waves of affection crash above him. His heart beats vigorously and yet the only thing he can do is smile and mumble ‘thank you’ for his hero.

It takes a few minutes until he takes control over his own self again, during the time Alfred cuts two oranges in half and arranges them on a plate. Hearty chuckle breaks the quietness between them as Arthur muses at the sight of the tallboy and hums, “I should just move in.”

“Yea, you should.”

The sudden answer coming from behind his back perplexes the young man; not only its arrival so spontaneously, but the meanings. Alfred replied without missing a heartbeat. _Yea, you should._

“Sorry.”

And now he apologizes; the blue eyes sink into disappointment and sorrow; yet again he was led by his emotions and not his mind and he’s afraid he went too far. Arthur knows how Alfred tries to control himself and keep distance, keep their relationship in a safe haven because unless, God knows what would they do to each other... and now the hero is torn, startled from his scare to be gone too far.

“No, don’t. After all, I spend more than half of the week here already.”

Now it’s Alfred turn to look at him in disbelief and that tiny spark of hope in his eyes make Arthur go even further. The spectacled man looks around hesitantly as if he was waiting for something to happen and intervene and when he hears Arthur’s words he steps closer to him.

“I hope you have some space for a few books.”

There aren’t enough words in Arthur’s vocabulary to describe the young man’s happiness at that moment. The wide smile, bright ecstatic vibration in his sky-blue eyes, enthusiasm and rage of excitement take over all control he had previously and it’s all flooding onto Arthur. Despite the late hour it feels like just the beginning of a marvellous and thrilled day to spend with the other and only with him; he is back in the light and suddenly realizes that he has the choice. If he wants, this day will never end. If not Alfred, but he has the right to make the decision.

It is all clear now. A start, a beginning they wished and prayed for; all that has been before is fading away because they chose so. The past is merely a shadow and no light is cast upon it. The revelation in the forest green eyes soak up in the sky’s blue.

He is not only embraced in a bear hug but all of a sudden he finds himself chuckling, laughing, tearing up from the inside, just how _happy_ Alfred can be from his closeness and how open he is to receive it.  How can it mean so much to him, to have Arthur by his side to hug him so long and so hard that the Englishman begins to assume, they’re going to spend the rest of the night standing and embracing each other? Alfred’s hands are all around him and since he is unable to handle such strong emotions that are boiling inside of him the whole scene becomes ironic; his caresses and changes of posture show a teenager’s enthusiasm, a young man who’s not confident enough to cross the last step.

But the long kiss that he presses into Arthur’s neck assures the blonde, that the step; that last bridge they have to cross is getting closer with each obstacle they defeat.

. . .

Alfred was beyond reasonable happiness through the weekend; he decided to take Arthur out to have dinner in town on Saturday, treat him and simply flood his cheerfulness onto him since alone he couldn’t handle it. Arthur had simple chicken parmesan without any special order while Alfred had a great plate of chicken and steak but for minutes he is unable to start eating. In awe, enthusiasm and still in that childish rush of happiness he watched Arthur and slowly crept his way on the cushioned seat to be right next to the Englishman. As much as Arthur is a prudish person and likes to keep distance, he felt infuriated that he _didn’t_ mind having Alfred so close, intimidating his private sphere and on the top, Alfred’s hand slowly crawled its way to hug Arthur’s waist from behind.

Clearly, Arthur had no idea just what did he release on himself.

They watched movies later that evening, Alfred gazing at him with that content and cherishing smile of his and every single time Arthur had to hide the blush that just didn’t seem to disappear. Alfred made him tea, later in the bed he made sure Arthur is properly covered by the blankets and hugged him gently, caressing him with such soothing affection that Arthur doubted if he’ll ever feel cold again.

. . .

Now the routine they had is a bit shaken but either of them minds. Arthur called his landlord to inform him about the news and began sorting his clothes into the luggage again when his phone buzzes. It is a Monday and he had a morning shift which means he is slightly tired after the day.

Alfred’s voice greets him in the phone and it works like a switch; all that burdened his mind is suddenly vaporized by the hopeful anticipation in the other’s voice, even though it’s a simple statement, “I hope you won’t spend the New Year’s Eve alone.”

He has to chuckle at the implications; they are back with these? Since when?

“I made plans with Cookie, now bugger off.”

“Crap, am I left out again?”

Arthur can’t hold his chuckle; he even licks his upper lip before answering.

“All the time.”

“I don’t want to imagine what goes on when I’m out in the night.”

“You’d be the definition of the third-wheel, my friend.”

“So, you’re taking her somewhere? I thought I am leading in taking you out to places.”

“She’s planned to have a picnic in the Capitol area.”

“I didn’t know my cat was that old-school,” he just murmurs but Arthur hears him well enough.

“At least she was faster than you in asking me out.”

“Woah, easy there! Let’s see if I can give a better offer.”

The blonde has to think for a few seconds and with his free hand he wipes his lips but the smile doesn’t want to disappear.

“Shoot it.”

“My cat is dumb and clearly doesn’t know you well enough. The Capital area is full of people on New Year’s Eve, and you don’t like crowd. Even if she would bake something for you, you’d get annoyed easily there, and it’s too cold anyway, she’s risking getting you sick.“

“If you want to beat her, you better collect your balls and not just talk behind her back.”

“What do you mean, she’s right beside me.”

At this point Arthur cracks up and it takes a few moments to calm down but when he returns the phone to his ears he hears Alfred’s hearty laugh as well. It makes his heart tingle and he is grinning.

“I want to take you somewhere, Arthur.”

The confession is so sincere that the other has to sigh and even though Alfred is not present in the room with him, Arthur nods. “I know.”

“I’ll even be a third wheel for a while. Hopefully you get bored of her quickly.”

 “I still don’t know where you would take me.”

“I want it to be a surprise.”

Of course, he wants it to be. He is such a teenager sometimes, then in the night-time he switches into an invincible hero-mode and he doesn’t fret to fight anyone. He’s gorgeous and unconsciously Arthur places his palm on the middle of his chest to calm his frantic heartbeat.

“Alright. Only if Cookie agrees as well.”

“Well, she’d have to take my car in the first place. What if I accidentally lose the key?”

“Just shut up, you dolt,” he laughs again.

“So... Wednesday. You could come over on Tuesday... I mean... I could come over, pick your stuff up and take you... here.”

Oh...

His mind starts its usual racing but immediately he pulls the break and practically lifts his hand in front of himself as if ordering his own thoughts to stop. It doesn’t have to be awkward anymore. In the short period of silence his hands begin to be cold since the warmth escapes from his fingers upon being stressed. They are sleeping together for more than two months... being without Alfred is a state of existence when he feels a part of him has gone missing. Only having him by his side restores his fullness; the thought is terrifying and suddenly floods his mind. It’s too early for moving in with Alfred. He’d have him every day, every morning and night...  every minute, and he wouldn’t have to worry about getting back here, leaving the other behind...  but this enthusiasm and worshipping of his company from Alfred’s side is overwhelming. The young hero doesn’t deserve an introverted loner.

“Erm... but if you’re not ready...”

Arthur lets a chuckle break the silence of the room; his voice is raw and filled with disbelief.

How is he doing that? He’s practically in between Arthur’s thoughts, knows all his fears and all of his likes. He is the one Arthur have feared all these years. The one who reads him, who sees him. There’s no way to lie or to escape from him anymore, because he’ll ask _why_ , and there’ll be no answer from the blonde’s side. Alfred may touch him, may look at him and talk to him so openly that it’s petrifying. He dug too deep into him without realizing it, and suddenly Arthur feels the world freezes around him.

The empty dresser, the piles of clothes on the bed, no shoes under the table... he is getting out of his own life to step into another that he knows nothing about. Only bits and pieces.

This is the time to disappear. This would be the moment when he’d suddenly back off and leap. Too much of responsibility and too much hope. Leaping across another continent is easier—

But not this time. He wants to get it right this time.

“I am. After seven, just come when it’s convenient.”

He lisps Alfred’s words in the device and hears the other’s breathing. _When it’s convenient._

“Alright. Don’t worry about getting all of your things at once, we can have turns. We’ll have the whole night.”

After a brief moment of consideration, Arthur smiles and with the calmest sigh he ever let out of his lungs, replies.

“And a whole new year.”

“Yeah,” Alfred’s voice is kind, hoping, smiling. “That too.”

Arthur hangs up and empties his mind. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to complicate anything, doesn’t want to elaborate how far they’ve reached. He doesn’t want to regret anything he said or did before Alfred’s arrival in his life... he doesn’t want to forget and doesn’t want to leave anything behind. Whatever past Alfred bears on his shoulders, it clearly doesn’t matter since without knowing about it, Arthur begins to feel commitment to the other, why couldn’t it be the same vice versa? He doesn’t have to hide anything, anymore.

Everything can wait for the right time.

For now, for Wednesday, _such a bright day_ , he doesn’t want any disturbance.

No more thinking for Arthur Kirkland. “Just for now, don’t think, just live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit this isn’t the best chapter ever, but New Year’s Eve is coming and many things because a New Year a new start ok tell me I’m cliché but this is gonna be hectic. I hope I can write that well, to tell what is happening.


	7. New Year's New Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve

The last day he spends in the room he rented is hectic. He’ll never come back so he checks everything to be taken in his luggage and tries to remember all the things he has bought during this short year he spent in that tiny space. His arrival to America hasn’t been smooth just like anything considering his life; from his early ages Arthur learnt how to cherish and appreciate those short periods when he could just lean back and let the streams flow on their way. Usually it was his overcomplicating mind that made things harder to believe or harder to let his time pass. Now again, leaving the room he rented on his own, collecting his belongings and placing everything into a new space which was also owned by another person initiated many thoughts in his mind.

It was five fifty when he sat down on his bed and mindlessly gazed out of the window. Already dark outside, the light vibrating from the old street lamps gave yellow shade to the creatures outside, let them be birds, humans or dogs and each flash of light on the road meant that another car passed by in front of his door and none of them slowed. It was Wednesday, the middle of the week and Arthur had no work that day...

He had a free day that he spent in his flat just trying to spend the time since Alfred was at work... a day which is wasted in his opinion. Since BestBuy had a network throughout the country, Arthur believes Alfred must have an important position if he was called in even on New Years’ as well, otherwise he was sure the bespectacled would have accompanied him. Yet again, he is proud to know such a gorgeous and reliable person who at the age of twenty already owned a nice position at a company. The young hero messaged him that he’ll come to pick him up around six no matter what... and the clock crawls torturously slow. He sighs.

. . .

However Arthur has been numerous times in Alfred’s apartment, upon the other’s arrival Arthur realizes that it has never happened the other way around: a part of him is glad that now (even for the first and the last time) he can show his room to his friend...  but when Alfred steps in, wearing expensive bomber jacket, in his brand shoes and leather gloves, pure dismay and shock written on his face and by his side Arthur shrinks in shame. The size of his living space is half of Alfred’s bedroom.

His heart clenches so painfully that the only thing he can do is stare at the ground for long moments, until Alfred digests the sight and turns to him; Arthur’s attention is drawn to him as he grabs the blonde’s shoulders but the puzzlement and torn shame in the other’s eyes are hurtful for the taller as well.

“You’re never coming back here,” he states with rock-hard determination and all Arthur can do is giving him a nod in reply. “I’ll not let this happen to you again.”

“It’s not that bad,” he murmurs, and clears his throat. “Small, but sufficient.”

“No, that’s not sufficient for a person,” Alfred looks around again, his eyes drink the sight with stiffened irritation. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Again, Alfred prefers action over talking about troublesome matters; he takes two big bags and walks out of the flat, leaving the Englishman behind for his thoughts. It is happening. Alfred came to pick his things up and the next he will know about his life is that he moved in with an American guy and they’ll sleep in the same bed from now on, every day. A part of him is thrilled, filled with anticipation; some giddy happiness he never experienced before and it makes his heart leap into his throat, the other part of him is hesitant. From the window he watches Alfred’s figure, the man places the two bags on the backseats and upon turning back towards the building he puts his hands in his pockets. He is well-built, his complexion is neat and his whole appearance radiates righteousness, an aura that assures Arthur that by Alfred’s side he would finally walk in the light and not in its trail.

And what can he give back in return? Of course they will share the rent and the expenses, that’s not a question but for everything Alfred has given to him, money is beyond being meaningless in the blonde’s opinion. His life is being shifted onto a higher standard, he will have bigger space to live in and someone who cares about him and isn’t his own mother. And he could almost swear half year ago that he’s absolutely fine living his life alone till the end of his days.

The presence of the other is noted by his unconscious and Arthur is grateful for the spectacled man’s silence. He’s taking one bag and leaves him alone to say goodbye to the place he lived at until this day, this hour. Probably he knows that it’s not as simple as that. Knowing that many times during the mornings they spent together Arthur preferred to lie silent and let himself be held by him, Alfred only stands in the doorways when he is back. The blonde knows that the young man tries to read his expressions, tries to see through his walls but since he is unable to do these, eventually he walks up to Arthur and with a smile he tries to hide, sneaks his fingers into Arthurs’ and gently pulls him towards the exit.

The forest-green eyed man takes the huge duffle bag, his backpack and the case of his laptop while Alfred carries one case.

He won’t let him overcomplicate anything, he will always and at all times push him out of these vicious circles and Arthur breathes in long and deep, eyes shut and head shaken in disbelief. No... He’ll not have time to think.

 “Dude, when you said ‘a few books’ I thought you talk about ten or something, but _this?_ ”

So much about the sophisticated moments.

 “Says the one who has an entire wall of comic books.”

 . . .

Compared to how immature his friend could behave and how childish his enthusiasm was in the beginning, Alfred turned out to be a thoughtful flatmate. He packed his clothes in a way to provide space for Arthur, cleared a corner for the other’s books and threw the empty shower gel bottles out so Arthur could pack his belongings out on the edge of the bathtub and in the cupboard below the sink. The Englishman’s electric kettle, his mugs and cups... all gained their own space in the kitchen.

And he was anxious that he would have too many things. In the end, his collection of knit sweaters and ties were neatly placed in the drawer as well, no matter how great the pile seemed upon first sight... and they finished with the whole packing in less than an hour. It seemed unbelievable and at the same time so fabulous to the blonde that when he prepared hot chocolate for Alfred and tea for himself, for a moment he stared at the tiny flat in awe. This will be his new home. A real one that he shares with someone he cares about.

And it is Alfred, who is now setting _his_ books into alphabetical order, who is sitting in the corner with his back turned to him, deep in his thoughts and reading the back of the books occasionally, commenting on their contents. The young man brushes through his golden blonde hair, massages his own neck a little and puts a book aside. It is enchanting how peaceful he is but when he stands and walks to take the cup away from Arthur’s fingers the blonde’s eyes widen at the sudden realization. Alfred’s figure is tall, not much taller than him, broad but not too broad, his arms, his shoulders are tempting him to touch and feel and the way he carries himself in that black Gant jumper is simply arousing—Arthur has seen him countless times in briefs to know what is underneath the fabric and just imagining the skin and the muscles moving in harmony causes him to take a sharp breath.

When Alfred takes the cup into his hands, for a short time he also pauses in front of him, eyes roaming around the shorter blonde’s figure and taking the sight in; even though Arthur cannot read his thoughts only by following the gaze lets him know that Alfred is looking at his entire being as well; his chest, his collarbones, his stomach and legs, yet again his neck and as he swallows his Adam’s apple moves. The blonde doesn’t know how arousing he is when he’s the one biting into his own lower lip; his gaze drinks in the sight of the American’s chest, his breathing is close, his heart beats in his throat.

For the time being, both are quiet and since none of them dares to cross the line yet, Alfred clears his throat.

“So... let’s get ready after this. I’m taking you out for New Year’s Eve, as I promised.”

Leaving him there and merely sitting down on the sofa, Alfred averts his eyes and tries to hide the blush on his face yet Arthur sits beside him and decides to digest all that happened. They want each other. They want more than sleeping together, it is obvious and clearer than the sun itself. He wishes to know all those thoughts that roam in Alfred’s mind but remain unspoken... their speechless communication is not something that can be kept up in the long run.

And yet, none of them knows who would be the one to say ‘no’.

. . .

Mentally kicking himself for being so prudish compared to his teenage years, Arthur takes the thermos from the sink and places it in the bag; Alfred prepared sandwiches and his part was making tea along with some biscuits. He doesn’t know where they are heading but judging from the secretive behaviour of his partner it must be a peculiar sight from where they will have a nice view on the fireworks. Probably it’s on a top of a building.  He can’t guess so instead of wondering he shakes his head and quickly gets rid of these thoughts. He has to depend on Alfred for a little while until they get there.

His guess might have worked if they were staying in the town, but Alfred drives on the highway twenty minutes later and heads South. The Englishman is curious, checks the signs and numbers but he can’t tell their exact direction. For a while he thought they are heading towards Portland, but the dark blonde changed direction again.

For a while the car is in a comfortable silence; none of them feel the urge to talk. Their thoughts are known even though their future together is not. For the time being, merely sitting beside each other and driving together fills them up with relief and gratefulness; on the long road Alfred occasionally sighs and looks aside and these times instinctively Arthur turns to meets his gaze. The quietness is broken when Alfred starts telling stories about his workmates, how his workplace has changed through the years he’s been working there and how his work looks like. In the end, Arthur is confirmed in his belief that behind the young man’s financial success is a hard, tiresome but successful way. As for himself, he prefers to remain silent. He’s not the one to talk about success.

They have dinner in the car, Arthur breaking the biscuits for Alfred so he can have his full attention on the road; practically hands the pieces of biscuits in his hand. He is content and in the blessed darkness of the car Arthur lets this stupid, giddy smile bloom on his lips. What a limey.

. . .

When Alfred finally drives into a parking lot, Arthur stretches his arms, shoulders and his legs a bit before looking at the other to question their whereabouts.

“You’ve never been here, right?”

The blonde shakes his head in response, “I haven’t really left Augusta in the last year.”

“Thought so. Come, I think you’ll like this place.”

In the cold night of December Arthur draws his jacket closer around his shape and holds his lips tight; his excitement fights his dignity from the inside as he walks to the other side of the car to stand beside his friend and take a look at the building, now lying in darkness. Due to the insufficient light of the night Arthur cannot tell the colours of the walls or make out the text written on a board right next to the door. Their arrival is not greeted by anyone as it seems and doubt is planted in the heart of the shorter blonde, drawing his eyebrows into a frown. Are they preparing to trespass...?

“It’s open, but only for us,” the other explains and holding his hand in his leather gloves, begins to pull Arthur towards the building’s entrance, no matter how reluctant the other is. The wide pavement which lead up to the door is already behind them when the Englishman is able to read the sign on the board hung up on the wall.

Maine State Aquarium.

They are trespassing into a state owned establishment.

“Alfred, are you kidding me?”

In fact, the bespectacled man frowns and shakes his head in response, “why would I? Come on, my friend left it open for us, he’s also here inside with his girlfriend.”

For the split of the second Arthur feels relief, he almost smiles at the sentiment, how romantic it must be to bring the girlfriend to a sea-life park, in the middle of the night when no one is around, specially for New Year’s Eve... since he’s never been to an aquarium, his expectations include beautifully lit tanks with sharks, corals and exotic animals which swim around the couple and just for one night their union is more unique than ever; only the animals hear their voice and will keep their secrets till the...

The sudden rush of heat and embarrassment makes him shudder and he hides his eyes with his palm just to avoid the mere sight of the American. Alfred closes the door behind him and takes his hand to lead him further in the establishment, hopefully far from his friend since Arthur really doesn’t want to meet anyone right now... rather just shrink or evaporate from embarrassment.

Seriously?

Him?

As a love interest for Alfred? For such a perfect man?

_Is he_?

The enthusiastic and cheerful voice of the other calls his attention back to reality, but on the spot he feels another wave of tiredness. Alfred, like the giant five years old he is on the inside, is standing in front of a huge tank and points at the floating (probably asleep) animal as if it was the sensation of the year: “Look Arthur, have you seen this before? Sea-cow!”

The simple yet heartbreakingly plain and un-amused manner of Arthur’s voice is nothing to the dark-blonde’s excitement. “That’s a manatee.”

“Looks like a cow.”

“Have you actually seen a cow?”

“Yea, grown up with them.”

“That explains a lot.”

It seems his implied insult doesn’t bring the expected reaction; Alfred chuckles and puts his hands into his pockets as he looks at the animal and the tank. His reflection on the glass is calm, relaxed, just like his entire being at all times; there is no tension to be found around him. The animal on the other side of the glass is asleep, merely floating close to the surface and probably doesn’t hear the sounds they make. Since he’s never seen such creature ever in his life, Arthur stares at the peaceful animal and takes a mental note to come back some time during daytime, no matter how expensive this place might be. He would like to meet the strange animal again.

Indeed, the establishment resembles the environment it is supposed to introduce. The floor, the walls reek from the salty water and the corridors carry the echo of the sounds of their footsteps. Alfred takes the role of the guide, probably having visited this place already, he leads Arthur in the bay of rays, to the tank of the octopus (though he is slightly scared of it and remains standing at the door while Arthur examines the animal) and is slightly disappointed when he finds the hall of the whale closed. As he puts it, “he’s a dear friend, and a better listener.”

For a few moments, until Alfred digests that he will not have the opportunity to introduce Arthur to Whale, the young blonde’s heart sink from the sight. The hero who saved his life in more than one sense has only one creature to talk to, and it’s a whale. Not a friend, not even his pet at home. It’s a whale which is a one hour long drive far from his town but it seems to Alfred it’s worth the travel. The thought and the image of Alfred, driving just to see an ocean-mammal because he had no one else to be honest with, clench Arthur’s heart into an iron-tight grip. And he assumed Alfred was content with his life alone...?

...

Darkness and the dim shades of blue paint the corridors and windows colourful; their eyes quickly get accustomed to the lack of proper light, though soon Arthur feels a strange kind of attachment to this world. Walking and following Alfred in the shadows means only one thing for him and catching glimpses, patches and shady trails of his expressions amuses him. He’s in the game. Alfred is all around him again, pulling him from chamber to chamber and introducing every fellow he already knows. From their childish chase the only result is to bump each other occasionally, touching and holding each other’s figures when they meet in a completely dark area and shamelessly, scandalously, unafraid of the presence of cameras, Arthur muses as their hands steal touches around their sides, arms and occasionally, pretentiously accidentally brush at the other’s waistline under the fingertips.  Chuckles, protests without actual meaning fill the quiet space as they make their way towards the other end of the institution. They didn’t have much time left.

The aquatic park has pools outside but the sight is which truly strikes the blonde to stand in awe for several moments long.

Apparently, Alfred brought him to the edge of an island... on the very edge, where they climb on the wall of the aquarium and just let their feet float mid-air above the rocks. Even though Arthur can’t see the huge stones that border the ocean and mainland, he is sure if one of them would fall that would have tragic consequences. The rhythmic licks of the ocean on the surface of the stone wall along with the gentle salty breeze soothes the Englishman; his mind travels thousands of miles back to his homeland, to South England where he was sitting on the rocks days before his departure, staring at the wide horizon and wondered if he would find anyone to share his soul with...

Alfred informs him about the time. They had twenty minutes left.

. . .

It is a dark but clear December night.

The lights from the town gathering on the other side of the small bay dance below the stars, leaving the rest of the surroundings in their safe dim shade of blue, black and the silver but cannot take the dancing reflections of the stars from the water. Five minutes.

“Arthur?”

He jumps down from the edge of wall and faces the other who joins him and with a simple hand motion tells him to turn back to the ocean. Standing side by side, Arthur folds his arms to hold the warmth in his jacket and blows air into his scarf, counting a couple of seconds but since he is lost in the scenery, he gives it up. The noises carried by the ocean wind offer them a sip of happiness and excitement from the gathering on the opposite side; sentiments fill their mind.

“I’m sure lots of people are there,” the other’s whisper is barely audible under the sound of waves; Arthur turns to look at his friend and his breath is instantly stuck in his lungs. Alfred is close to him, their foreheads almost touch, eyes locking on every tiny feature of each other’s faces, cheeks, lips. Maybe it was a mistake to let him be close, but then why is it so easy to be pulled against him and lean into his embrace to hug his shoulders and just rest his cheeks in the junction of his neck?

Submission and the loss of his dignity burns his throat with the raging rebellion of his heart; he is in the safest and warmest haven he’s ever found and all he is doing is protesting. The accepting and pulling hug of his partner tells of loyalty and determination, not a voice leaves his lips still Arthur knows how many things he wants to confess. His hands are gentle, stabile. There’s no need to be afraid of falling.

Arthur nibbles on his lower lip, eyes squeezed shut and takes a deep, thorough breath from the leather jacket, arms purposefully keeping the other as close as possible, without thinking he steps even closer and worms his thigh between Alfred’s legs to feel the warmth of his body better.

“Two minutes,” the other breaths into his ear, swallows and Arthur feels the way his Adam’s apple move centimetres away from his nose. The skin is soft, shaved and has an inviting scent that is incredibly hard to resist, he has to release a withheld, breathless gasp before licking his lower lip in arousal. He wants more; wishes they were on a warmer place so Alfred would probably be without his gloves, jacket, jeans... his hands wander from Arthur’s back downwards to hold him by his hips and shameless as he is, the Englishman leans in for more.

First a hand on his waist, grasping and pulling, then another on the middle of his lower back, gloved fingers spread and push into his jacket to have him even closer while hot breath caress his own neck right underneath his ears, “Arthur, please stay with me.”

His mind and his lips move without him being in control, “I don’t know what to give to you in return.”

“What do you mean?” His breath, his lips, his entire being so close, Arthur feels as the lower parts of his abdomen heat up.  He has to bite into his own lower lip not to nip at the smooth, strong neck being offered to him.

“You’ve done more for me than anyone. Saved me, healed me... became my first and only friend...”

Seconds pass in silence, until Arthur inhales the other’s scent again, “I’ll never be enough to give these back.”

“You already did.”

“How?”

Alfred remains silent as he checks his wristwatch again then simply buries his face into Arthur’s neck and places an open-mouthed kiss on the other’s skin, near to his ear. It causes the other to gasp, breathlessly draw in another ragged breath and as his eyes roll back into his skull from the wave of sweltering pleasure, his arms tighten around the other. The lips suck on his skin, lick him, bite him to let him feel the demand behind the gentleness, then suck again. He’s lost in the touches, in the lust and desire to have more; in an instant his entire body is in flames.

“Alfred, please,” he moans as his last defences are gone with the tight pressure of the other’s body. “Just for tonight.”

“Just...” he lips against his skin and nips at the deep red ear, flushed by the Englishman’s embarrassment and arousal. “Just for New Year’s, right?”

“Yes.”

“I never had a New Year’s Kiss before.”

The confession is enough to remind the other exactly who is standing right next to him, pressing into him with such desire and lust that he’s barely able to think rationally. He wants them to be at home, in the bed and right at that very moment, without the barriers of fabrics.

“Me either. How much..?”

“Half minute,” he breaths, now pulling away just to lean back again right in front of the other’s lips. Their foreheads touch and Arthur lets his own fingers tangle in the soft honey-blond hair on the nape of the man’s neck; curling around them, gently pulling, fingertips massaging his skin below the neck of the jacket but he can’t draw his own attention away. Alfred’s breath is hot on his own skin, right in front of him; it is ragged from the ferocity of his desire.

When the time is up, Arthur nearly loses his balance. He is surprised, but not a second later his arms and fingers tighten around the other; has to push himself up on his toes a little and complies without hesitation. Warm lips press against his own, although it’s not only that. They press against each other, their entire bodies are swallowed up in a tight embrace, for a few moments they hold their lips pressed to each other and breath, just to test, to taste and cherish; it’s happening. The next thing Arthur knows is that his hands hold Alfred’s cheeks, caresses his firm jaw and his cheekbone with his thumb then with one hand brushes through his hair, clings onto him while the other presses his pelvis into his and keeps them close. He is arching into the pressure and sucks on Alfred’s lower lip a little upon hearing the man’s lusty moan in response however Alfred doesn’t let him have much time; his lips are back on him and Arthur holds onto him for balance before parting his lips just a little.

It is delicious, intoxicating. The scent of his skin, the touch of his lips and his nose, the glasses – it wouldn’t be him without the awkwardness, having to remove the spectacles. Once they are gone, Arthur is almost devoured in a long kiss, to which he can’t do anything but submit himself to, melt into it and release a moan into the other’s mouth; his breath is lost in their hasty pleasure.  Alfred’s tongue is already between his lips and he gives in with feverish want. He shouldn’t have responded so openly but having it all now just clicked everything in the right way; the touches, the taste on his tongue, the softness of the other’s upper and lower lip, the exploring and still passionate game of his tongue – the fever of having the other finally, after these months of continuously built tension. It sends waves of electricity through his entire body, from his mind to the back of his head, into his hands that are unable to leave Alfred without touches, into his middle to arch against the other more, press into him and feel his hardness with his own.

He can feel the other’s strength and hunger for more; long after the first sensations are gone, Arthur is unable to break their kiss; takes and gives more than he should, more than he is allowed but the urge cannot be denied. He feels the other’s shoulders, chest and heart tremble inside along with his own; their veins are incapable of carrying such feverish emotions inside; their breaths are insufficient, yet the pressure, the passion and heat is so fierce. Their only desire is to feed the other’s passion, hold and caress, touch and memorise all they have right now.

After all, nothing else mattered.. just how madly he wanted to tear those clothes off, how strongly their erections pressed against one and other, being obvious, admitted and still denied. He wanted to melt into the touches, to get rid of everything they had to think about; just let it last for ever and never have to think back.

Why, why did he bring them here...? if they were home, they were about to have each other in all ways possible...

“Arthur...” his name is hot on his lips, barely audible still it just fits on his tongue. One more, just one more kiss, held long and forcefully. They have to stop now. Before it’s too late. “Arthur?”

He only moans in response; nips on Alfred’s lower lip and gently sucks on it before licking him and just once, only once more, kisses him with longing. He wants the other to answer, but he has to look up into those blue eyes, sky-coloured pits of hell, temptation, fever and unspeakably piercing light.

“Only for New Year’s, remember?”

Frankly, he wants to toss it aside and pull him close again... but the other is right.

“Yes,” his voice is reluctant and hesitating, nonetheless he withdraws a few inches.

“Arthur...”

He looks up again and trembles from the core of his soul, seeing the other’s eyes so close, so intensively.

“You gave me all I needed. You proved me, that I am worth of being loved. Thank you.”

_To the hell with New Year’s Eve_.

In an instant he pulls the man back and presses his lips against his but this time to tell him something he doesn’t have the vocabulary for. For a few more moments they hold each other, gently tasting and cherishing each other’s lips. Skin and tongue melt in their short intermission.

“Happy New Year, Alfred.”

“Happy New Year, Arthur.”

. . .

He’s read about this so many times in the books he adores so much. At some points, he rolled his eyes and believed; in reality the description of the feeling must be something dull, it is just emphasized for the readers, for their imaginations to fill the void in their hearts. The world will not change just from feeling sentiments, he believed.

And he was wrong. _So_ wrong, it twirls his insides and his heart beats in his throat.

An hour ago, he was cold. The world surrounded him in an enigmatic darkness, the future unknown and versatile. The stars from above gave some sort of comforting light for them to see, but being distant from celebrations, from what all of the world anticipated, his existence was similar to a floating wood on the surface of the sea. His hands were cold, his person was called outsider and loner, his body disposable and insignificant to everyone, just a shell to wear every day.

He read many times that a person in love will see the world in different shades and will see such features and phenomena that until this point of his life, always avoided his attention.

The entire world breathes around him. The plants, the ocean, the animals, the people celebrating all around the world, it is a whole new year and even though the wind carries frozen air, it is not cold for him anymore. They are all his witnesses, they know it all and will not betray him. Their silent company soothes his tired mind and while they are making their way back to the parking lot, Arthur prays in gratitude. He is not entirely sure what he’s thankful for, having an electrifying explosion right in his heart when Alfred decides to take his hand, but he is thankful. For everything.

He hasn’t felt anything like this before; being a part of the world. Being a part of his own surroundings, feeling their presence and support no matter how sentimental it seems. They are with him, lived through the hardships and climbed up by his side. His jacket from home, the first pair of boots he bought for the winter in Maine, his scarf from the flee market... they all have witnessed everything he went through, and now they’ll be his silent trusted company, along with the trees and animals of the sea park.

His shoes hug his feet comfortingly and warming him up after the long time he spent outside. His arm around his middle comfort him and give him gentleness; the seat of the car lets him sink in the softness from behind. He is not alone. He just has to look aside and see his own fingers tangled with Alfred’s on his thigh: the man who has given himself to him. It’s not needed to be coined into words. His calloused thumb tenderly caress the upper side of Arthur’s palm. He’s there, present and caring.

He doesn’t see the other’s expression, his mind slips back and forth between sleeping and being conscious. Maybe he doesn’t even have to see to know how happy his partner is at that very moment, their contentment and tranquilizing calmness is in the air. They are driving home from their little trip and Alfred is glad for their silence. Even though he would have endless tales to tell to the other, their union is far more uplifting.

He kissed Arthur.

The thought erupts in a giddy smile on his lips, and he barely can manage to hold a girly whimper and keep a firm hold on the steering wheel. He has to cover his lips with his palm but then remembers and traces the tip of his index finger on his lower lip. _There._

Pulling himself together, he clears his throat but the smile is still present. _He kissed Arthur._

And now the blonde is peacefully relaxing beside him. He is drifting from sleeping and occasionally being awake, quietly gazing out of the window.

. . .

Upon arriving home, Alfred looks aside and hums when he sees the other asleep, lips parted and head fallen to the window. Unable to stop his imagination, bride-style and other cheesy thoughts cross his mind however these dreams fall apart when he opens the door of the passenger’s side. Arthur wakes and dismisses his help although right after entering the flat he heads for the bedroom to fall between the sheets. It is late, indeed... and the hero sighs. Maybe another time.

Settling for bed now is a routine they can’t fall out of; Arthur finds a comfortable position being on his side and gladly accepts the role of the little spoon, lifts his arm and pulls Alfred’s hand close to his chest before nudging himself closer to the man, snuggling his back to be pressed to Alfred’s chest and through the skins, feel his thumping heartbeat from the inside. It’s distant, but the arms around his middle and the warm, firm hand holding his along with the breathing figure of the other surround his mind. As usual when the half-smile appears on his lips, full of contentment and sated satisfaction, Arthur closes his eyes and sighs. He’ll get used to this quite easily, he thinks.

Moments pass, until Alfred sighs into the nape of his neck and places a gentle kiss into his skin, his thigh moves behind Arthur and worms its way to be in between the other’s legs. He has to feel him as close as possible, hold his hand and caress his chest with his thumb since that’s his only finger that is free.

“And tomorrow I have morning-shift.”

The American grunts and frowns, “you just had to ruin the moment, right?”

“It was just a statement.”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

Hesitating that should he turn around and _hit_ the other or just elbow him in the side, Arthur frowns and mumbles something under his nose, but in the end remains motionless.

In the entire world, there are two people who could _order_ Arthur Kirkland to shut up. His Mom, and Alfred Jones.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. If you found grammar mistakes please tell me where and what, and I'll correct it.   
> Reviews are welcomed and appreciated! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking during the chapter if I should concentrate on their domestic lives or on the action, and I'll try to mend the two together. I post it because I want to go further and I don't want you guys to wait so much. Long chapter ahead!

Funny as it is, Arthur almost misses the street when he walks home the first time. Listening to music and trying to get rid of the burdening thoughts and concentrating on how to discard the scolding of his boss, he almost walks back to his previous flat. Maybe it's natural, he thinks, and even though he tries to keep his emotions in a cool and dignified bay, his heart leaps and thumps in his chest in giddy happiness. Come to think of it the giddiness and the almost childish boost of energy in his veins do have a noticeable effect on him. Restlessly he forces himself to read for a while on the sofa, accepts Cookie's figure in his lap but after half an hour of silent craving for his partner's arrival, Arthur stands and begins to pace. To the kitchen (three steps) aimlessly, to the bedroom (ten steps) to check if everything was clean and his clothes were neatly folded, to the bathroom and then back in the kitchen.

To pass the time he decides to prepare muffins for his hero since anyways he has to practice baking. The scones he made a month ago were terribly hard to chew two hours later. He uses one of Alfred's books (the American actually has cookbooks in which there are handwritten recipes) as inspiration since as everyone already knows, Arthur can cook and bake perfectly and there is always an entirely logical reason why something has gone wrong.

Half an hour later he's watching over the tiny cups in the forms, squatting in front of the oven and hugging his knees when finally he hears the sound of keys and the noise of the door. Immediately he paces to the entrance to greet the other in his enthusiasm forgetting to discard his apron and the huge gloves still upon merely seeing the other Arthur's lips curl into an honest, relieved smile that he attempts to hide in an instant. Alfred is tired, careworn and slow that evening; he hangs his coat on the wall and just pushes his shoes off with his toes before turning to face the living room and actually looking up.

His eyes follow the form of the other. His feet in green socks, wearing simple sweatpants and  _his_  apron, huge gloves on his hands and a simple dark-green shirt and his cheeks... Alfred is lost. He just shakes his head in disbelief and uplifting relief merely from the sight of Arthur who is beginning to sulk since Alfred didn't greet him back. He sighs and clears his throat but instead of putting all these emotions into words, words that in his opinion are simply too tiny to reflect all he has to express, walks up to the other and embraces him into a gentle hug. He already knows from experience that this silences the blonde every single time and Arthur frowns, nevertheless puts his arms around the man's shoulders and pulls him close as well. Sentiments. Both of them.

The weight of the dark-blonde's body being lifted on Arthur to hold speaks of absolute exhaustion. Alfred has his arm around Arthur's middle but his hands merely fell on the man's hips and sides to feel his close presence but he's unable to hug him properly.

It is the first time that Arthur greets him in the door and Alfred lets himself sink into the contentment that embraces his being; after long minutes of standing he takes a deep breath from Arthur's neck and pulls himself together to push away and discard his dirty clothes. The jeans, the jumper and the shirt fly to the laundry basket and there he is in his usual clothes that Arthur has already got used to already. Briefs, socks and now just because of the cold weather, a tank top.

The oven beeps and Arthur snaps at the machine. He's immediately there to take the tiny cakes out and places them on a plate. Alfred appreciates his kindness with a tight hug and a kiss on his cheek, informing him that even though he has already gotten muffins from people, these are the ones he'll never forget. Lobsters would envy the redness of Arthur's cheeks.

He can barely handle the sudden rush of affection. Quickly he re-collects the remaining dignity he has and makes a face, stating that Alfred stinks from the smell of his workplace. The taller man merely chuckles and leaves him there but from the dancing light in his eyes Arthur knows he's pleased by the whole situation.

...

Their life together has officially started that day, followed by several others in the row. Jogging, weight-lifting, training together has become a natural activity, especially since Alfred is glad Arthur is catching up fast. On Saturday he announces that he'd like to start with the technical part... and surprisingly, Arthur is sure he'll do well. He remembers a few moves after all.

The start is not smooth. They hardly get over the fact that they are about to hit each other, in his embarrassment Arthur misses a few times but then all of a sudden delivers a punch into Alfred's shoulder right into the spot which makes the other's arm go limp. As it falls down and the young hero is perplexed for the second, Arthur smirks and tosses Alfred's other arm aside to hit him in the guts with a strong, punctual shot. The well-built American licks his lower lip, smiles and stretches his shoulder before being able to stand again; Arthur's hit was more like a sting, fast but powerful bite into the flesh that ache after the impact.

"You know where to hit, and how," he states the obvious and in an instant, grows to like the glad, victorious and so  _cocksure_  smirk on the other's face: something that he's never seen before. Arthur's whole aura has changed in the last minute; from being awkward and hesitant just by being around Alfred during their training, now he has an absolutely different posture and the shine in his eyes is vibrating with excitement. He likes this... "but let's see how you dodge?"

He's fast but not fast enough. Though Arthur hasn't been training with anyone for several years, his reflexes are back after a few failed attempts to protect himself; the pain triggers his mind. Something in his mind clicks; it can be seen in his eyes as he looked at the dark-blonde after one hit that targeted his side. After that particular shot, not only diverting the direction of Alfred's hand or foot, he attacks back in that instant with a precisely delivered hit right under his partner's collarbone, that make Alfred gasp and ask for a short break. The technique, the postures and the flashes of memories draw the hero's attention and naturally he begins to wonder about them. He keeps on pulling Arthur's skills out of the well hidden box deep down in the blonde's unconscious and by the end of the afternoon he is able to make stable conclusions.

First, he is glad his bones are still not broken. Arthur's precise hits are not taught, he dodges and attacks by improvisation, quickly analyzing the situation and biting back like with the agility of a feline creature and the impressively fast motions of a snake. Arthur's lithe figure is not powerless as it would seem at first sight: the man who is often doubting himself and who is an actual reserved intellectual... in real fight, after practicing a few weeks, Arthur can catch up to Alfred just right and complement his style. The more amazing yet frightening fact is that the style is coded in Arthur's unconscious which is being fed from experience, memories and visions of his own mind. He doesn't know about positions or sets of movements, he shrugs and admits that in  _his time_ , to know simple defense was luxury.

Alfred wonders, what kind of  _time_  Arthur is talking about.

In the end of the day he admits that in two weeks time, Arthur might come with him on the patrols.

. . .

No matter how long ago it happened, with his twenty-three years Arthur remembers everything that happened to him in his childhood and in his teenage years. Images, voices, looks and glares come up and though he fled thousands of miles to escape, with the training the memories gradually return. His silent retreatment in the beginning doesn't affect the American; in his free time Alfred plays video games and reads comic books, surfs on the internet for hours and doesn't notice Arthur's position, for which the Englishman is grateful.

He doesn't have the mood to talk, even though he is well convinced that he should have. It would help but for the time being, hiding behind the impression of being lost in his book is enough. Eventually he turns a page but makes mental notes to remember exactly when he did he stop paying attention to the story. Driving his own focus away is such a skill he hasn't mastered yet on the level he should already be. He doesn't want to go through the times he's been in danger but to protect himself out in the night by Alfred's sight, he has to: the process requires his full self-control and his ability of keeping a blank facial expression at its best.

Alfred grunts as he lost against a huge dragon-like creature in the video game. He restarts the battle and quickly thinks about a new strategy but when he fails again he shakes his head in disbelief and looks back at Arthur, who's sitting behind him on the sofa. In his frustration that he isn't able to defeat that dragon (he has axes and a long-bow in his hands and since the lizard is flying he either has to wait until it burns the forest around him and lands or has to throw his axes away and shoot arrows, both ways are quite useless so he decides to take a break from the game) he looks up at Arthur and immediately the annoyance evaporates from his heart. He frowns and deducts that something is up.

Still, he doesn't know if he should interrupt the obvious concentration and deep thinking of the other: Arthur is staring in the empty space, barely blinks and his breathing is withheld in his chest not in his stomach as it should be. His posture is slightly bent forward, hands grasping on the book but his stare is not pointed at the words; it's stuck somewhere above the book. The bespectacled tilts his head on the right in consideration and from a sudden idea that just formed in his mind, stands to push the other a little by the shoulder.

Arthur releases a quiet, almost inaudible gasp upon the impact: his gaze focuses on Alfred as he turns his head and looks up, lost in perplexity and surprise which flawlessly display that the entire being of him is thunderstruck. Alfred can see the hair standing on his arms and on the nape of his neck.

"If..." he clears his voice and since his entire soul craves to hold Arthur in a comforting embrace, takes a step closer to continue, "if we take that pillow away, you can lie down and me too."

It takes a few seconds for Arthur to understand him: he looks aside, behind himself, and reaches to take the huge cushion from behind his back. After removing the pillows, Alfred motions for his partner to lie at the wall of the couch so he can find a comfortable position too. In the first moments it's too tight for the both of them: two grown up men beside each other on such a narrow place is almost ridiculous, but Alfred has yet another invention. He practically pulls Arthur half on top of him so the Englishman can find a position to read in and he is also able to look at the screen. Surprisingly and yet naturally the blonde doesn't show any form of resistance, in fact he gladly places his head on the other's chest and behind closed eye-lids, listens to the thumping heartbeat from below.

The realization that they are cuddling yet again, paints Arthur's cheeks and ears crimson. He hides his expression from the dark-blonde and shifts a little when he feels warmth pool in his loins, a natural reaction that he tries to get used to in the close presence of Alfred, who just clears his throat again.

"Now, it's good," he declares, smiles and takes a sniff from Arthur's hair. "You know, if you want to tell me something, I'm here."

And it's all because he's messed up inside... Arthur grits his teeth and hopes the other doesn't notice.

"I know."

An hour later, when Alfred is snoring beneath him like a content child, Arthur shifts to check the other and is stunned by his gorgeous, young and pure looks. He doesn't know why and how he deserves such a person but when Alfred groans beneath him and his hand moves to caress his shoulder, the blonde sighs in resignation. It can't be helped. This young man who is indeed the hero of the small town, will do his best to comfort and support him... in his own, awkward way.

. . .

January in Maine is cold and wet. The temperature is below zero Celsius degree, in Fahrenheit it's around twenty, more or less; Alfred takes cap and scarf when he goes somewhere and Arthur developed a habit of checking on the man's clothing, needless to say. He expresses his dismay at the old, smelly scarf that Alfred refuses to wash and the cap which is also reeking. Arthur shakes his head after another lost battle of 'having to wash these because it's not hygienic and also disgusting', and decides to take the matters into his own hands. Literally.

In the last years he has never had imagined that some time in the future he would ever walk into a handicraft shop. In Britain he learned these techniques from his grandmother and mother, being the youngest and most delicate brother of the three, he was the favourite of the women in the household. It was easy, reading and knitting together, and his grandmother told him she would be the proudest grandmother if Arthur would knit something for his beloved wife one day.

Poor grandmother would be perplexed if she would hear about this.

Arthur chooses woollen thread, white, blue and red. Even though spring is coming in the middle of February and it takes a few weeks to get done with these pieces of clothing, he is not stepping back from his plan. He begins right away and quickly proceeds: he doesn't want to see Alfred in those old accessories.

However... his plans of sitting at home, knitting and enjoying his partner's company are ruined by said partner on the very next Wednesday when Alfred announces to take Arthur along for the night.

He picked a habit of greeting Arthur with a hug and a kiss on the cheek upon his arrival but that day he is nervous. He gives only a short embrace and informs the other about the great news which light the anticipation in the blonde as well: there's no time for sentiments right now. They're going on an adventure.

His reasoning is that in the middle of the week there are less people on the streets, less trouble to find and it would be easier to show Arthur around the most dangerous places. For the first time this would be a good time to go and probably they won't meet anyone, but if they do, Alfred is sure they will be able to handle everything together. In return, the anticipation of the blonde is endearing; he accepts the hiking gloves along with the bands to protect his wrists and grants a tiny smile to the other in return. Of course he assures the young hero that the next time he's in town he'll buy his own accessory. Right... he hasn't been paying attention too much up until now.

In the doorway, Alfred takes his own pair of bands to his wrists, another pair for his ankles, takes an old phone that is for contacting the police in case of emergency, his cowhide jacket and the leather gloves. He explains that this kind of leather is squishy when it's raining so if he gets in trouble, people cannot grab him by his jacket or his hands, he also suggests that Arthur should get a similar type as well. It keeps the person warm and even though it's heavy, he knows the jacket is safer to wear than a normal jacket from fabric or linen.

So, they depart. The door is closed behind them, Alfred checks if he has everything and glances at Arthur as if he was checking his friend's presence as well. The blonde feels disbelief and withheld anticipation glowing in the blue. Their first night out on the street starts and none of them know exactly what is waiting for them out there.

. . .

The wind is harsh and frozen, the lamps barely give enough light to see among the houses and since Arthur left his gloves at home, his fingers are nearly frozen in the pocket of his jacket. He begins to be grumpy in the disappointment that they really don't meet anyone although when he looks aside and glances up on Alfred's face he is a bit taken aback. The young hero's expression is far distant from the usual. The absence of warmth, kindness and tenderness is striking through the icy-blue eyes, it startles the Englishman and he quickens his steps to catch up properly in the speed. He is looking around in slight perplexity then recognises the place. They are heading towards the harbour.

"Is this where you go every night?" he tries to initiate a conversation and Alfred clears his throat, usually he does that before talking and hearing him doing it calms the blonde a little.

"Not exactly. Since it's Wednesday I figured the centre will probably be more tempting but I never know. We have a small town, but for example in Portland we could actually find a pattern. At the police they made charts and statistics and according to them it is the centre which is always a good spot to find criminals. Just listen to the noises and keep your eyes open."

"That's what you..."

"Apparently yes, basically not."

The brief answer causes a natural confusion in the Englishman; he frowns but eventually hums and starts wondering about the activity of his partner. Now, being out on the patrol it doesn't seem so pleasant or adventurous but rather disturbing in itself. He tries to listen but after a few minutes gives up since when Alfred turns his head at a noise he just sighs and admits that he missed it. Maybe he is an amateur but after several other missed noises Arthur frowns and begins to think if he is a proper person for this whole idea. Yes, he might help Alfred if they are being attacked but normally...?

His reluctant silence is something that Alfred gradually got used to and he's focusing on his surroundings on a level Arthur is incapable of doing. He wants to be useful, to be equal to the other but from various reasons he's unable to rise to that level. In his mind asking for help sounds like surrender and obvious defeat but eventually a stubborn and grumpy man like Arthur has to face the time when his determination to be good enough for someone grows larger than his pride.

"Can you teach me more?"

His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and he grits his teeth. There, he said it. It's an eternity until Alfred turns and there Arthur sees the usual kindness again: it fills his heart with a sudden flood of warmth and in the wave of embarrassment he glares at the pavement again.

"Of course!" His cheerful voice is the reminder Arthur needed: it's energizing, sends vibrations through the blonde's entire body and assures him of the American's support. "You just have to tell if you have a question. Just for tonight my only job is to watch and listen but there are times when I look out for certain signs. I'll tell you about these later."

Pushing Alfred on talking has never been a successful idea, in other words it's useless: the man will talk when the time has come. The awkward silence between them is usual, Arthur tries to pay attention on their environment but his mind is occupied with his burdening thoughts. Being a freeloader on a patrol makes him feel guilty.

In the end their walk included the park and the city centre. Altogether they spent three hours out in the cold night and never met a soul that would disturb the peace of the town; just like once Alfred did, now Arthur wonders if it worth the long hours of walking and observation. The atmosphere at home is vibrating from the unspoken frustration, the air is filled with the aroma of hot chocolate mixing with forest-fruit tea.

They're frozen to the bones. No matter how carefully they dressed to keep the warmth of their body under the layers of clothing, during the three hours the frost crept its way into their skin and flesh.

With a blanket on his back, Alfred accepts the cup of hot chocolate and lifts the duvet to invite Arthur right beside him. The blonde is perplexed for a moment then complies; placing the cups aside the man lowers himself to sit and pulls his legs up so the blanket can cover his whole body. Alfred's arm embraces his shoulder as the Englishman gives the cup back to him. Under the comforting cover of the duvet he lifts his palm to entwine their fingers and pull the arm tighter around him. Within a minute he already wormed his way to cling to the taller man's side, depending and craving the warmth of him and his entire being. If he could, he'd just crawl into his lap.

The world would be so easy, in that instant.

When Alfred takes a deep breath from his hair and shifts his legs to be in a slightly wider position, Arthur feels his own cheeks redden. The reactions of their bodies are also in harmony.

There's nothing to be ashamed of in front of him. They're merely sitting on the sofa having a blanket around themselves and simply enjoying the late hour. The hot cups in their hands burn and caress their frozen flesh, transmitting comfort and the delight of their arrival. They're home. This time, both of them. Cookie is dozing in Alfred's lap and Arthur wishes he would be in the cat's place. No matter how strong Alfred's scent is in the air, from the blanket, the sofa, his arm and his clothes around him, the entire space, it's not enough.

"So..." Alfred begins to caress the blonde's shoulders in attempt to gain his attention. The manner means that he's about to tell something significant. "I have connections with the police and FBI. Though they don't pay much attention to me, I have some of their statistics and charts. I follow their work in the area, that's why I occasionally go on smaller trips to villages and other towns. I have a plan and if you still want to stay, you could have a great part in that plan."

Now, this sounds interesting, though being an immigrant and still in need of a few years to gain the Green Card, Arthur doubts he could accompany the man. On the second thought, he'd be ready to pack.

"I'm in this  _business_  for three years already."

Arthur frowns upon hearing the word and turns his head to look on the other but the bespectacled has his eyes closed in a relaxed, loose way.

"I have people to race with but when I win I get a good amount of bucks so it worth the time and energy. Also, most of them are older than me and already specialized so I'm just a free-lance someone in this profession. I'd like to be more though."

Cautiously, the blonde blinks and tries to put the pieces together in a failed attempt, "you're gambling?"

"Yea, with my life sometimes. I told you, it's not just a hobby though it started as one."

He sighs and clears his throat, and upon his words Arthur feels his soul and body freeze onto his spot.

"I'm hunting criminals, and bring them to the FBI or to the police. When I know they are in town, I'm after them during the night. Last time when I caught that rapist, I earned thirty-thousand dollars. That was the reward for the one who'd bring him to face justice."

Indeed, this is more than Arthur has ever dreamt of. Not only the sum of money... the entire idea. Suddenly, the little flat has an entirely different shade in his eyes. It's foreign, strangely accepting and warm... he doesn't know if he can sink into it any more. This man beside him, hugging him now and holding him every night...

"You're a head-hunter?" He utters, words melting in the silence between them.

"No. I don't hurt people, just bring them where they belong. FBI or police. I hurt them if they hurt me."

It's stunning. He's only twenty. Probably hasn't attended university... he has a good position at a huge company, he has a safe financial background, he is intelligent, smart and still vulnerable on the inside, and he's... Arthur has to squeeze his eyes shut and clear his thoughts. This is the same man beside him, but the arms hugging him firmly yet gently are suggesting their own dangerous properties in an instand. With those arms, Alfred lifts cars if needed, he can fight, hit and wound other people yet he's tender and loyal to Arthur as if there wasn't anyone else existing in the world. To him, at least.

"If..." and he reads his mind without realizing. He sees through him, there's nothing hidden in front of him. "If you feel, you can just stay at home. I can do it."

He has the confidence of a real hero out on the streets... his focus cannot be shaken, he's strong and knows his way through everything but back at home... even though he strives to be seen determined, he's not. His voice rises around the end of the sentence while nodding and gritting his teeth; to reassure Arthur as much as he can, he strokes the man's shoulder a bit. He doubts if he will be able to go alone and the blonde senses it.

The Englishman's heart and mind fight and struggle for solution. This man saved his life. Once directly, in several ways indirectly. He's proven nothing but loyalty and reliability. If he'd risk Arthur's life, by all means he'd put his own in the front lines and Arthur frowns at the thought which tells nothing but his own uselessness again and immediately his heart protests against the whole idea. He's not a weakling who sends his own partner in the mouth of danger. He's just as capable of everything as Alfred is and on the top the thought of leaving Alfred out there on his own stiffens a string in Arthur's heart.

"I'm going with you. Wherever you go."

It's easier to say than expected and it's even easier to accept the bear hug he receives. Alfred's lips press a grateful kiss into his neck, he places the mugs aside and decides to cover Arthur with his own self. He's unable to hold these feelings inside and Arthur is aware of that: with gentle caresses on the young man's sides he soothes both of them and decides that it'll be the new day's pleasure to see what exactly Alfred meant by all this. For the time being, for the minute and hour he closes his eyes and lingers on their union; having Alfred's head on his chest, his ear above his heartbeat, his arms around his form.

"I knew you would. Dear God, I can't believe I was in doubt," the muffled voice of the other sends electrifying shots of heat into his veins, especially when Alfred tightens his hold around him.

Smiling, Arthur presses a reassuring kiss in the other's hair although the thought still hasn't released him. Digesting the fact that Alfred, with his twenty years, has been putting himself into danger and chased criminals with all he had and every time arrived home into an empty flat, crawls invisible bruises in the blonde's heart. This bright young man has never deserved this life... and he, with his messed up personality and messed up past behind his back, will do his best to make him happy. No matter what, beyond reason.

With the American's weight on top of him, Arthur hugs the man's head close as if it was just a ball, not caring about Alfred's hair or ears which results in the dark-blonde's perplexity. He's blinking and swallowing but decides to get along with the whole situation, in the end he just sighs and lets Arthur do whatever he feels like; even though this means having his hair petted.

"Arthur?"

"Mh?"

"If you keep this up, I'll have a boner."

Never faster in his life has Alfred Jones found himself on the floor, falling from the couch and with a crimson-cheeked Brit fleeing from the entire situation. With eyes wide open in startle, the only hope he has on his mind of blurts out sooner than he could think it over.

"But... we still sleep together, right?"

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Sorry! I'll continue as fast as I can!
> 
> I'm still wondering if I should add more of their domestic lives or concentrate on adventures, so if you have suggestions or opinion about the matter, please tell me!
> 
> See you next time!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur has way too high expectations and manages to emotionally exhaust himself much earlier than needed. Suggestion: if a friend of yours wants to introduce you into a bounty hunting system, do not hyper your entire system the whole day so that you wouldn’t be able to keep focus on your friend’s words.

. . .

It is not the first time in his life that he’s suspecting fever running through his veins: he is unable to wait for his shift to end, even though he knows he’ll arrive home earlier than Alfred. Thursday afternoon it is, and he is about to jump into a risky, uncharted way of life. The mere images of having Alfred explain his life to him is intoxicating; he barely manages to focus on his work and let the outside world enter his mind. His heart thumps in his throat as he paces down the streets going home.

Upon arriving home and checking the laundry, Arthur nearly explodes in anger and despite the urge to _hit_ Alfred for washing his white uniform button-ups together with his own dark-blue uniforms on high temperature, Arthur manages to keep his composure and greet the man delightfully, his heart beating vigorously in his chest. Alfred promised him to tell everything in time but what this meant exactly, Arthur has no clue... nevertheless he follows the man everywhere in the tiny flat and by the evening he loses control: he practically sits right beside him during their snack-time and stares in the hesitant ocean-blue eyes. He’s incapable of waiting anymore. He lost the ability to tolerate Alfred’s simple routines, he is taking the dishes out of his hands to wash them himself, prepares his coffee in his favourite mug ... the last string is when Alfred is taking his shirt off and Arthur finally blushes. He will not undress his partner.. at least, not yet. The second thought paints his cheeks a heavier shade of red.

Alfred promises to start everything soon. Very soon.

Somewhat this statement calms the curious Englishman. After dinner Arthur takes a shower to clear his mind and to prepare a blank page mentally which is free from expectations, and joins the young man, who in the meantime prepared everything for the night – for some reason they’re not leaving for patrol that day. The bedroom looks like a den of nerds and suddenly, standing in the doorway and just staring at the place in his pyjamas, Arthur has to swallow. Laptop on the bed, cola, chips, pillows and blankets... two headsets ready to be used, and his partner looking at him with the brightness of the sky even in that late hour.

“Please, sit.”

So, Arthur walks to join him and accept the blanket on his back: it seems Alfred grew to like having them under one duvet, and the young American places it on both of their heads. The blanket-fort of the two men is also a clear invitation for Cookie, so in a minute (much to Arthur’s quiet, well-hidden contentment) all members of the tiny team are beneath the cover. Judging from the thrilled, vibrant light in Alfred’s eyes Arthur is sure he’s about to join an entirely new world.

The dark-blonde moves the cursor a little and the monitor screen lights up: it’s a bit violent for Arthur’s eyes, he squeezes them shut for a few seconds before focusing again. What he sees are images, texts, dates and data, and as Alfred scrolls down the page it seems to be endless. Frowning, the Englishman leans a bit closer and accepts the supporting, soothing hand caressing his thigh, regardless of the erotic images that cross his mind. At least he learns that Alfred appreciates his shorts.

“So... here you can see there are a lot of files about people. You could say these are fugitives but they are all from the US, so let’s be more precise, they are fugitives running away from justice. This system that I entered two years ago collects them under legal circumstances. I could join legally when I hit eighteen and since then I have permission to catch them but only ones with American citizenship. I wouldn’t call them citizens,” he added, and Arthur keeps his gaze focused on him for a little more. The light in the sky-blue flows into a different emotion from delightful anticipation to the same solid luminance it had the previous night, it anchors him to the ground. “So, this system of bounty-hunting is not the ones you have in TV shows or fiction since it’s highly secretive, the job itself is risky and the few who participates are watched. So... if you had doubts or began to have paranoid feelings, you are right. I’m being watched, where I go and what I’m doing.”

He certainly didn’t expect that but at this point quickly brushes it aside, even shakes his head a little to get loose from the heavy thoughts, which messes his hair up even more under the blanket. Alfred chuckles, his voice is deep and raw from frankness, he reaches to comb the Englishman’s blond hair a little with his fingers, eyes lingering on the reddening cheeks. He’s fully aware of his effects on Arthur’s body, just by being close to him, hands caressing him... with an apologetic glance, he smiles and looks back at the screen again.

“Just for today I don’t want to tell much. We have a website and account that we can use, and no need to say all logs are checked starting from IP address to all activities we do,” in the meantime he scrolls up and points with the cursor at phone numbers and leads their eyes to a whole row of numbers. ”Each and every one of us is a part of a group, and that group has two contacts from the FBI and the police, depending on our region and specialization. I don’t have any specialization, I’m still considered as an amateur by the others.”

In a fraction of a second Arthur asks, “How come?”

Alfred frowns in consideration; he shifts a little and glances up on the ceiling before looking back at the screen. Obviously the topic gives him a sense of belittling, “maybe because most of them are above thirty, and I was seventeen when I had my first hunts, stealing cases from under their palms. Now I’m twenty and they have a hard time accepting me. With you, it could be easier, it would be the two of us. Usually, they work in pairs,” he explains and with a smile that carries both contentment and the hopes he sees ahead of them. “You can say ‘stop’ anytime, you know. I don’t want to force you into this.”

He doesn’t get any answer. Arthur stares at the screen of the laptop, his mind registers reading names, dates and some kind of qualification. The monotone sound of the laptop fills the room and that noise aside, they remain in silence, leaving each other for their thoughts. It is Alfred’s turn to become restless: he moves closer with the urge and desire to pull Arthur close but since the man is deeply in the process of digesting and re-considering all information he gained, he remains on his place without getting any response. Normally he’d just shift and caress him, now his insecurities prevent him from acting; he’s unsure of Arthur’s deductions, feels shaken by the quietness of the blonde and as if this was a direct threat to his wellbeing, needs reassurance from his partner.. that everything will be alright again. He pushes Cookie away and places the cat aside so it can go away on its own.

Hearing Arthur speaking up tightens a knot in his chest, his despair is known by the Englishman just by listening to his breathing.

“I like this, basically. It doesn’t seem so risky, criminals-hunting aside. I mean, I’m sure they provide enough information so you, later, I mean...” he stutters and glances at the young man beside himself, too fast to become certain of the uncertainty in the blue. “Together, we can prepare for the troublesome cases. You talked about specialization, it means a preference in certain kinds of criminals, right? And you have the instructors from FBI and the police, so you have a basic back-up...”

The question startles the American: it’s obvious and for it he gains a tiny, short-lived smile on Arthur’s lips. Struck out of his thoughts, Alfred indeed shifts closer and to regain his confidence lingers a few moments, presses his lips together and chews on them in embarrassment but by this he draws Arthur’s attention on himself more. He pulls himself up to be right beside Arthur so he can move his hand behind the Englishman’s back and caress him while he’s thinking on the answer.

The display of affection is not leaving the other without reaction. The blonde feels the attraction grow inside of him again. Being so far and just inches away from the man hardens something inside of him, deep in his heart and at the same time twangs a string in his soul. The warmth radiating from the other’s skin, the tingling sensation his fingers leave behind... He has to control himself and rule his lust, not to pull him on himself and just get rid of all those clothes and just let him feel his skin stretching above those toned muscles and the heat... he has to shut his eyes and release a mute sigh.

“So far...”it seems Alfred has the same problem; his iris is swallowed by the black, there is only a thin line of ocean blue remaining, his lips are slightly parting and Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from them. _Concentrate._ The skin on his neck, warm and tanned from working-out in the summer, the junction of his neck with the firm line of his shoulder, and his jaw, he’s growing those little stubbles and Arthur feels his heart leap into his loins. Heat sends shiver through his veins. _Concentrate._ “There is... only one agent in this region to deal with us, right now in the dead of the winter the fugitives went South...”

South has only one meaning right now in Arthur’s mind. Down.

He attempts to clear his thoughts but when he looks up again and meets Alfred’s eyes, burning in cerulean flames, he’s taking another deeper breath and gives up the failing struggle to hide his growing member. It’s hopeless, the bulge at Alfred’s loins show he has the same thing in mind.

“Maybe we should stop for tonight and settle for sleeping,” the young hero breaths and tilts his head a little, spreading lust to be palpable in the small space between them. Sleeping would only mean cuddling up and having him right behind or right next to himself in briefs and only in tank top underneath the blanket, hugging him close and giving him all access by that. Hell would be unleashed. The bespectacled man waits for his answer, his position shows more of his neck, exposing his skin, the junction of his neck and his throat to the other and Arthur’s fingers curl into a fist just not to reach out and do something he’d regret. He’s not sure if Alfred is doing this to him on purpose or not.

“No, we shouldn’t.”

“I want you. Just... something...” the mere thoughts cause small, almost inaudible gasps escape the hero’s lips while Arthur himself is biting into his own lower lip. He wants to taste him on his own, it should be _him_ biting Alfred’s lips and pull him and grab him and take those clothes off, his knuckles are already white from the tightness of his fist. He stiffens his heart and even flexes the muscles in his arms to force his mind back to reality.

“Not yet. If we do something, we won’t be able to stop,” he clears his voice and takes a deep breath but it just coils the flames inside: the air is thick from Alfred’s scent and touches, all over the place. “We barely managed to stop at New Year’s Eve, only because it was cold and we were outside.”

“But now we are inside and you have a morning shift tomorrow. You must be relaxed.”

The realization draws all existing thoughts out of Arthur’s mind. He is ready. His soul, heart and body, the three together. His heart beats feverishly with wild thumping, he feels it everywhere roaming inside, his mind is incapable of handling the connotations, images and sounds, the closeness and unbearable distance. Alfred is ready, his twenty-years old mind and body is fed up with waiting. He wants Arthur yet he manages to put the man’s needs in front of him. It’s overwhelming and torturing: yet again it has to be Arthur to slow the entire process...

“You must understand. Not today, not tomorrow. Maybe sometime,” he tears his eyes away in shame, knowing his own body burning in desire. He’s nearly dumbstruck by the protest he receives.

“But why? At least, care to tell me why?”

If he’d start... the thought causes him to release a bittersweet chuckle, if he’d start... they’d be sitting here for a whole day, or more... and merely from the remnants of memories he shivers: icy fear tumbles down his spine, widens his eyes and makes him gasp for air. He doesn’t remember saying it but his lips utter. Not now. Squeezing his eyes shut he forces the images out of his mind, trying to focus on darkness and the light, soothing touches he receives from his partner. Time is erased by his unconscious and when he feels his thoughts beginning to ease from the heavy haze he already feels all he has to. He’s being surrounded with Alfred again: the blanket and the firm arms holding him and pulling him to rest on his figure; the change of position startles him. His mind focuses on Alfred’s voice and catches on the words fast just to grow a strong sense of protest.

“Alright. Maybe it’s enough for tonight, anyways. I promised not to go in depths and I don’t want you to get lost in stuff either. It’s very important to understand every detail.”

“I understand everything you said, Alfred,” he states, eyes suddenly clear green without the haze, he stares in the young man’s uncertain gaze and nods. “I understand everything.”

“But maybe it’s enough for today, you seem a bit...—“ his hand runs through the arm of the slightly thinner man and he has to look down, torn between his enthusiasm to stay and tell more of his world, and his worry about his partner’s well being. The moment is hastily broken by Arthur who suddenly isn’t in control of his own words.

“It’s because I’m messed up. There’s nothing wrong with you,” his turquoise eyes vibrate in sincerity and tenderness; it takes Alfred’s breath to see them so widely open. Arthur’s soul is opening a tiny gate for him to see through and even the blonde can sense his heart thump loudly in his chest. “Really. I’m a freak and that’s always been like that, but there’s nothing wrong with you.”

. . .

It seems the safest harbour will remain to be the bed. Alfred has gone to take a shower and before that he carefully tugged Arthur in the bed and made sure he wore socks and is covered on his whole body. If it would depend on him, he’d roll Arthur into a burrito of covers... God bless his soul. Arthur’s covering his face with his palms for not to see the light violating his sight from above: Alfred left it on and now it’s burning through his hands into his skull and it’s unbearably thick. The harshness of that yellow light bulb...

Oh, if it wasn’t so awkward all the time. After he called himself a freak, something has changed in Alfred’s entire atmosphere. He radiated disbelief. His looks at the blonde, his attitude, mere presence resonated in unspoken confessions of reassurances that this was uncalled for. In his good will to persuade Arthur of his “normal” psyche, Alfred managed to make him feel even weirder...

And now the hero of Augusta is about to get off the shower and Arthur has no idea how to face him although when it happens it is only him who’s anxious. Upon arriving back Alfred casually takes the laptop again, lies down beside him and places the machine on top of his chest so Arthur can see the screen too. For a good while he’s just scrolling up and down on the database before looking aside and check Arthur’s expression. The green vibrates in anticipation and begs for forgiveness which puzzles the young man.

“What?”

Arthur has to avert his eyes and ease the tightness in his throat, “nothing.”

“If there’s something you would like to tell, I’m here.”

“I know.”

“Right...”

His eyes snap open in the instant and widen in shock, stare at the other but the blue doesn’t reflect him anymore; it’s directed at the screen. The light is distant and is barely there. Tightness grows in his heart and lungs, squeezing the air inside of him. Alfred hums and frowns but it’s not directed at him anymore. Once he talks again, it’s nothing more than a hushed murmur in a cold, reluctant voice Arthur’s not used to at all.

“You never tell me anything. You say I should talk more about myself and you want to know more about me but you never do the same. It’s not fair.”

It’s not the first time that he hears this from someone important to him. It’s the first step to the fall.

“I know.”

“I know there’s something haunting you and I don’t force you to talk about it, I’m just saying it’s not fair. I can only hope that one day you’ll find me worthy to tell me what happened because until then I’m left alone to depend on my deductions and it’s not the same.” He clears his throat and sighs before turning his head to face Arthur which causes such relief in the Englishman, he shudders inside. A glimpse of hope and cherishment has returned in the sky-blue eyes, promising safety, warmth and loyalty, “I know you want to give me everything, and I know you can’t. But the same applies to me, that’s how we’re gonna work it out. Slowly, but we will. I’ll not leave you. Remember that.”

His eyes can’t be torn from the light of those blue eyes. The promises, the unsure and still certain sparks of sentiments, the freshness of spring with the trembling still growing light of the morning sky. The remnants of ice and frost are still around but the light, the ever-present blue melts all doubts away. There’ll always be light ahead. _Remember that._

. . .

They share a moment of relief and easing, until Alfred stretches his left arm out invitingly and Arthur accepts it: he shifts and places his head on the shoulder of the American, purposefully looking away from him and pulling the blanket over them in a longer struggle than needed. His embarrassment grows over the fact that Alfred is such a forgiving person that he’s able to look above his defects and he needs a few moments to concentrate on the man’s words once he began talking again. The meaning behind those words strike him with a pang of realization and this time he’s unable to put up any mask.

“Don’t say such things that you can’t guarantee.”

“I’m not a quitter, Arthur.”

It seems, for Alfred the topic is shut. It doesn’t matter for him that Arthur tries to turn his head to look at him, doesn’t matter that he expects explanation. He merely clears his throat and points at the website with his right index finger. Agreeing just for now, Arthur glances back at the screen and gently places his head closer to the other, just to sense a particular vein pulsing beneath the skin, promising continuity and contentment.

“The system of hunter-pairs is quite easy. One of them is the actual hunter and the other is doing the research and all the preparations. That would be the original concept, but in the last decade it’s been changed. Now, I know a team which helped me in the beginning with advice and gave me a few books about criminology and psychology. They function very well because one of them has a practical mind and the other is very good in tactics and theories. The one who’s out on the fields provides safety and money for the other, while the one doing the research gives information, does the coding, tracking and is in touch with the police and FBI. That guy is usually hidden, though not in underground bunkers and such: it can be an average house but the location is kept in secret. Only him and the hunter know it, and one FBI agent. Thus, the researcher has a lot of responsibility, coordinating the hunter and giving information to both ends, the official units and his own hunter as well. Now, the database is made for the researchers, but as I said in the past decade it has changed a lot so now it’s made for both hunters and researchers. Nowadays, though there is still a system of research- and hunting segment, the jobs are sorted between the hunters. It’s become rare when a researcher stays at a hidden location, it’s established only if there’s direct danger.”

“They accompany the hunter, right?”

“Yea, it depends on how prepared they are. If they mean burden for the hunter, they stay at a hotel or somewhere.”

“But...” awkward. He’s interrupting him. It’s not right. What was it? “If they stay at a hotel while the other is out on hunt, aren’t they bored or... what are they doing?”

“Working on other cases. At that point they ought not to worry about their partner, it would only mean harm. Of course they wait for them to arrive back but worrying just causes unnecessary stress. You can believe, it’s hard enough to know when I leave from home that for example, I’ll catch a rapist who used violence against innocent women and killed them afterwards or I’m about to wander in the harbour which is watched by the mafia but I’m looking for one particular person only. If I’m spotted or recognised the only thing I can do is run for my life.”

In the flow of the moments Arthur only blinks and lets the light of thrilled enthusiasm slowly fade in his mind. The beginning of their journey, the awkward stupidity that roams around their union, the childish assumption that they’ll function no matter what creates slight headache and nausea in the blond haired man. Running for lives, tracking, digging in psychology and criminology... how was this twenty years old boy prepared for all of this? He winced at the thought and at the monotonously beating heart underneath his ear. The warm, smooth skin, the toned flesh, running blood through the veins and this heart inside had been in fatal dangers before, just like him, and escaped... but somehow, this naive boy, without any weapons, managed to escape without scars and wounds. How? Why? What was his motivation? What kind of a teenager starts chasing criminals at the age seventeen and achieves to be accepted in the community of bounty hunters...?

“... probably wasn’t the best idea, but you can get used to it easily. There’s a list about them, but for now I go after only easy cases. Robbers, car thieves but if the hunter top dogs aren’t in town I try to catch a harder nut.”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his fingers into a grip. Why? This bright man should chase career in public professions... be a doctor, Alfred... be a scientist...

“Haha, “the hearty chuckle from beneath causes a little discomfort, but at least finally Alfred is having fun, “you’ll see this is actually quite fun. I hope you’ll like it. I’ll introduce you to my instructor soon but first of all we should catch one of these guys and get a nice reward for them.”

“Sure.”

“C’mon, you’re gonna like this. If it wasn’t awesome, I wouldn’t be doing it, right?”

. . .

“I’ve done all tracking and profiling alone. The man we are looking for should be active in the centre area between ten and two o’clock. His preferences are shorter women with tiny bags because he is also short, 5’1 tall. His left leg hurts from an old injury from Kohler,” Al clears his voice and quickly explains. “Another hunter. One of the bests I ever met.”

“Friend?”

“Kinda. Good company and he’s always ready to help. Now, this fugitive is not very good at hiding or disappearing, his pros are in timing mostly. Tomorrow if we spot him and he starts running, we must either block his way or chase him into a dead end. After that I’ll take him down. If he runs towards a car or out on the road be very careful. I don’t know if he has partners or not but since he’s a stinky and ugly bastard I doubt it.”

“’mkay.”

“He probably has a gun and we don’t. If he pulls it, try to hide behind something, but not a street lamp. If he shots the lamp the electricity might hit you... in the movies they often forget that.”

The thought pulls a weak smile on the Englishman’s lips, with a glance he reassures himself that the other has the same sentiment in mind. “I trust you Arthur, but please be very careful.”

It can’t be helped: the slightly shorter man pulls his hand and brushes through the other’s hair to mess it up a little, drawing chuckles and protests from the lad, “hey, why now?”

“Same to you, Alfred.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, guys. I have had terrible problems with this chapter, I officially declare that I hate it, I don’t like the way it is but that’s all I can give to you right now. If you lost interest in the story because of this chapter, I’ll fully understand. BUT. Tell me how it should have been or what would you change in the entire thing. I re-wrote it and changed hell a lot of things in it already but it just DOESNT WANT TO COME AS I’D WANT IT TO AND I FREAKING HATE IT.  
> I’d burn it. But I have no freakin’ idea how I should write it otherwise. I waited, I made up other versions and my bitching muse rejected everything. I barely managed to finish this chapter without creating a writer’s block. I can’t let that happen. It’s like, after a point the characters themselves refused to act otherwise, it sounds weird but that’s what happens. The story took over the writer.  
> However... their first actual hunt is approaching in the very next chapter.


	10. First Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter ahead!  
> Warning: mention of violence

The next morning is just the same as every other. Waking together when the alarm goes off, Arthur takes the shower first no matter how it aches in his heart to slip from between the heated arms of the other. While he’s in the bathroom, Alfred prepares their breakfast only wearing briefs and tank top and begins to choose his outfit for the day. Quietly appreciating each other’s features they get dressed; Arthur looks down at his own abs and arms in pride and Alfred flexes his own biceps’ as a reply. Both of them have a smug grin on their lips as the heroic and masculine flexing-show begins and ends shortly after. Arthur tries his best but has to admit, it would took years of training to be on his friend’s level in muscularity, though he feels such pride and confidence that he’s never felt before. Not only at the flexing muscles stretching beneath his skin but the lack of those puffy, soft fat lying on his hips and hanging on his upper arms fills him with self-appreciation. Only a glance at his friend proves that Alfred has been thinking the same, the only difference is that the man is stroking his own stomach muscles and pouts a little, calling his own body baby-names. Their efforts are paying off, though Arthur has to wipe his own face in the sudden wave of exhaustion. His partner is quite the self-admiring type, after all.

No word is uttered about last night. Breakfast is pleasant, the tiny space is filled with the sounds Alfred produces, munching on his French toast like a content child. He even has the mug of milk in front of him, the mug depicting superheroes. His eyes shine in glee as he checks Arthur out shamelessly, not caring about the embarrassment of the other, bright blue sky courting the burgeoning forest in spring.

The notion hanging in the air that they’ll actually go after a criminal makes his heart beat feverishly.

. . .

During the day, usual Thursday, Arthur finds himself wondering about the occupation Alfred is getting him into.. It requires such an amount of background knowledge that he doubts could master sufficiently. Feeling a bit trapped still chasing the source of light, Arthur brushes through his hair and slightly shakes his head in order to clear his mind a little. His boss leaves him to his thoughts (and with a huge piles of books to be categorized and scanned), and the man rolls his eyes at the puny task he has to fulfil. This life is like the fire drowning in the lack of air but remaining lit, drawing dark figures and shapeless terror on the walls of future while the other...

From the weak spark of a candle it started... and now just keeps growing, bursting into flames and catches on everything around him. His heart is already in the pit of coals.

His entire being is gaining a new definition and just by merely breathing and standing by the piles in the storage of the shop... he feels his insides and mind obtaining new concepts of life. Living by Alfred’s side... too close to the base of flames still distant. Their centres, their souls will never mend the way they desire although their need to grasp on each other is undeniable.

His mind drifts from the aspects of the job to the notion Alfred used over and over again. Researcher, hunter... staying away from the front lines, the researcher prepares the safe ground for the hunter to walk on... but still being left behind with nothing more than the empty promise of the other’s arrival and the waiting to chew his mind up slowly. He could already picture himself going mad, insanely expecting Alfred’s arrival. He would lose his mind in no time. His desire is to accompany the hero, as an ultimate goal hanging in the air above all that would matter otherwise.

He’s already losing it. He’s not his usual self around the man and it burns his conscience with the dark pit of lust in his heart. One half of him is desperate, wouldn’t hesitate to devour him and let his own self to be melted into Alfred’s touches, into his life... the other half is painfully alert and demands his willpower to not leave from a certain safe distance from the hero. To be close means to be seen and noticed, it keeps him alarmed no matter how their intimacy and understanding is growing almost day after day. To be around Alfred means exposing himself to a danger he decided to run away from nevertheless he himself cannot give a correct name to the object of fear. The mere thought and feeling that sends jolts of energy through his veins, shouting and ordering him to run, flee and just get free of all closeness, all touches and the intimacy that cages him and buries his senses alive... just the memory of the sentiment, that piercing and almost instinctive despair brings goose bumps on his back and arms.

Though Alfred has no means of doing harm to him... and his burning heart cries for the mere presence of the other. Knowing that he is not around, recognising the fact in his mind once again... his heart clenches in longing. Adventure, passion, safety... how can a single man hold all these concepts in his mere existence?

If he’d be here, he’d be making fun of the whole situation but actually they’d never get to the end of the task, namely because of the dork that would read every cover of every book, ask Arthur about them and would start debates around the topics in the descriptions. As the time would pass however, Alfred would become lazy and bored, leave the task back to Arthur and since he’s such a pest anyways, he’d go on his nerves and annoy him to gain his attention. The even more embarrassing and infuriating fact is that he wouldn’t be fed up with his presence because after all, Alfred would be near him. Remembering his eyes, the pair of vivid blue resembling the sky of a fresh spring day, Arthur takes a deep breath and stiffens the strings in his heart.

There’s no doubt about Arthur’s willpower, failing its own principles. After all, sometimes one has to lose a battle to win another, it is a simple, universal law of life.

. . .

Alfred brings Chinese take-away so they won’t have to bother with cooking that evening. It seems both of them are restless in anticipation, not even a quick hug is shared between them: Arthur takes the packs of food from the man’s hands and begins to prepare enough tea and coffee for the evening. In return, Alfred is quick in setting the laptop ready, logging in and ready to explain the charts of statistics to Arthur about the frequencies of several types of crimes committed. Since he considers himself to be a young amateur in the field, he’s mostly after thieves and occasionally dares to accept more difficult cases, only with the advice and approval of his mentor- and colleague, the Great Dane and the team of that man.

The area of Maine is more quiet in comparison with other states. Arthur learns quickly that it is an actual legal phenomenon to be a bounty hunter and since not all of the states provide this system, Maine is among those who do it only in cases of emergency or accept cases from different states. In connection with that, the people Alfred hunts are mostly not citizens of Maine although if the police or the FBI informs him about a local problem, he’s more than glad to help.

“After all, that’s what heroes do. The money is secondary,” he tells as if this was the most universal fact of life, aware of the slightly tired humming of the blonde. “I’m not doing it for the money.”

“Yea, right.”

Just from the roll of Alfred’s eyes Arthur knows the young man doesn’t want to go into details; he turns back to the screen but seeing the tiny pull on his lips, the Englishman is certain of the other’s annoyance.

“So: as expected there are more hunters in the area but you’ve met only me so far, I’d like to keep it that way for a while. It would be better if you’d get used to this all, learn the ways and the rules as well,” with that, Alfred opens another page on the screen and highlights the title. “This is the website with all legal matters. What we can do, what we mustn’t do. For example, I have the badge that I’m a bounty hunter, I may use violence in certain cases, not only for self-defence. I may enter into other people’s houses with their consent but I may enter without it if there’s a direct threat to civilians in the residence, I’m allowed to use violence and I’ll not be sued if I hurt the criminal or accidentally someone else. There are several cases when I’m allowed to enter without consent as well, there’s a list about them. You see now, why we are being watched; if one of us picks a violent hobby or starts drinking it will be problematic.”

The blonde only nods, his mind soaking the information up and practically gluing everything into his memory, he only looks up into the confident deep-blue eyes to encourage the other.

“Read these laws and rules and you should know all you have to about the limitations and general obligations. Everything is separated into topics so you’ll find it by categories. For tonight the most important part would be the ‘Encounter’ part,” and he’s already jumping to the article, only to sigh and click with his tongue. “Read it now, if you have questions I’ll answer them.”

In the very minute Arthur takes the laptop and turns it to have a comfortable angle, much to Alfred’s surprise. It is tangible in the air that for the young hero it is strange and foreign to introduce his own world to someone else; it fills him with the shake of realization of being different from the normal people yet being tolerable for one. Arthur is right beside him, his eyes narrowing in focus in order to memorize and comprehend all written information. Pride grows and stretches Alfred’s heart with the sudden urge to stroke Arthur’s back and display his gratefulness along with his enlarging affection. The man sitting next to him hides his mouth as a natural gesture and with the other hand, hugs his own middle to support his posture as his mind loses the ground of reality and sinks among the dry words of judicial sentences. Concentrating deeply, Arthur doesn’t realize the way he is being looked at, watched and analyzed by the young American. His posture, tiny gestures and unconscious moves are being read and deducted.

Not even a few minutes later, Alfred is sure in his assumptions. He’s already been sure that Arthur has been hurt way before their encounter, he has assumed problematic teenage years but his newest observations have brought new and different information to him. A part of his mind makes a mental note to be more careful around his partner, knowing that soon he’ll introduce psychology, the science of deduction and criminology to his friend; he’ll also have to be cautious of his own actions. After all, Arthur will desire to practice on someone...

But there was one more test he wanted to do, before the final conclusion.

Casually standing up and stepping to the counter to pour more coffee, with a swift move he pulls a simple glass in front of him and pretends to be clumsy for a second. He’s right behind Arthur, he doesn’t have to look to know the man doesn’t pay attention to his action right now. With a silent apology before-hand, Alfred pretends to stumble and all of a sudden, pushes the glass from the counter. The item falls and he catches it with a loud yelp, eyes already glued on the other man.

The sudden loud yelling causes Arthur to freeze on the chair. His shoulders, controlled by his unconscious are pulled up as he ducks his head and obviously squeezed his eyes shut, his elbows and upper arms held tightly to his sides. All of a sudden, the blonde seems to be shrunken, frozen and like a caged animal, waiting for his fate to fall upon him. The moment is still not passing, Alfred merely places the glass back on the counter with a knowing, dark frown on his forehead.

There. Right there. All of the expected reactions are being displayed as Arthur’s mind perceives the absence of threat still stays to be alert. The man, unaware of his own actions, pulls the sleeves of his shirt onto his hands to hide his fingers, releases a sigh but swallows and barely moving his head makes an attempt to look behind. His breathing is slightly ragged since he’s trying to take control of it again, obviously his pulse beats loud and heavy in his veins. “You okay?”

“Yea. My hand slipped.”

He shifts and sits beside the blonde, fakes a chuckle and checks the page but from his peripheral sight he studies the other. Arthur’s iris is shrunken in the haunting memory of fear, eyes widened but forced not to look like that. The simple fact that minutes later his knees are still held tightly together, his arms are still pulled and flexed right next to his figure and the sleeves of his jumper are still pulled over his knuckles while he’s picking and scratching the skin, convince the young man.

. .  .

By the evening Arthur knows all he has to, however his knowledge is sufficient for only these kinds of cases. Thief and violent person, their first common target will face a team that is merely trying its wings of cooperation. Alfred tries to help him by suggesting a strategy, which in the Englishman’s opinion is rather stupid. He disagrees, draws another plan on the sketchbook but just as he did, Alfred disagrees with him as well. Their childish interaction is only distracted by the time; by ten o’clock they are struggling to understand each other’s reasons (without any success) and although Alfred wants the hunt to be well-planned, the plan has to be his.

Rubbing his temple in annoyance and exhaustion (not from the constant arguing but from having such a strong-headed sparrow-brained American to deal with), Arthur stands to take the equipment from the drawer. Bullet-proof vest, wristbands, ankle-bands, gloves and black cap, his most comfortable shoes and jacket. He reminds Alfred not to forget the emergency-phone before departure.

.. .

“Good Lord, it’s cold.”

“There is more fat to gain for you then.”

“Not with your cooking.”

Arthur rolls his eyes in annoyance, “shut up, you twit.”

“I lost the ability to obey such degrading commands.”

Once again, Arthur tightens his fingers into a grip and resists the urge to punch the other in the shoulder. They should be quiet after all... but the choice of words and the proud voice rubs something inside of him and Arthur grumbles beneath his nose, just not to answer anything rude.

He sighs, takes a deep breath from the frozen air of Augusta and slightly shakes his head. No. They’re after a criminal, they should act like professional hunters. But either of them is one. In his silent wondering he doesn’t notice as Alfred starts bouncing beside him, sinking a bit by every step he makes and rising high at the next; boredom and anticipation battling inside. At the sight the blonde sighs again. Giant five years old.

They pass beside cars and empty intersections, making their way towards the centre. The streets lack light; there are merely insufficient and dim glooms of yellow, pouring on the dirty grey asphalt and the pavement. Their steps melt in the shadows as their figures bend and unite occasionally, a peculiar sight to observe how broad and vast Alfred seems beside him.

The town centre, though lit and maintained lies in numbness and quiet reluctance as if it refused to give any information about their target still lying open and ready. The usual drunks and young bands barely make it different; their groups and loners stray like packs of animals; the thought draws a knowing smile on the blonde’s lips. Without glancing on the other he senses the shift of mood; Alfred picks a slower pace at intersections, alleys and when they pass beside other people. For the time being Arthur silently obeys, occasionally they switch sides or he is the one slowing down to watch an alley.

The hours pass in frost and in an unspoken, crawling tension. The man they are looking for must be in the area they are observing still they cannot get a hold of him. Hearing Alfred hiss in annoyance when they encounter a disturbingly noisy group of teenagers brings him to a sudden decision.

“Let’s split up.”

The frown on the other bears such heavy and strong emotions that Arthur has to raise his own eyebrows, “woah, now what?”

Worry, rejection and the attempt to look bossy flash through the dark blue eyes, he even hardens the tone of his voice as he speaks again, “Arthur, don’t be stupid.”

The man’s jaw drops, hearing this sentence. He gapes and stops abruptly on the pavement, shakes his head and opens his arms. “What? Why?”

The young hero rolls his eyes, yet again there is a universal law of life that Arthur doesn’t know yet. The feeling creates a knot of shame and annoyance in the slightly shorter blonde; his fist tightens and his own frown deepens. “Now what?”

“Arthur, everyone knows that every time someone said ‘let’s split up’ in a movie, someone died and either of us are black so according to the movie-laws you wouldn’t die but you would be kidnapped or injured later if we split up now.”

Resisting the urge to face-palm himself, Arthur merely shudders from the stupid argument he just heard, “I’m not a chick, I can protect myself, that’s why we were training.”

“Not on the first mission. Maybe on the second, maybe later, but not on the first. Come, stay by my side,” he motions, only to stir the urge to object for the sake of objection in the other but no matter how hard he tries, Arthur is unable to spit any coherent, reasonable answer. The man who is three years younger than him, is right, his attire and words carry rock-hard confidence that cannot be questioned. Bowing his head in hesitance and submission, the blonde sinks his gloved hands into his pockets and walks up to the other only to continue their patrol in mutual silence. Their atmosphere changes as they follow the paths and of course, Alfred’s lead.

Still pouting, a habit he borrows from the hero walking beside him, Arthur glances aside in childish resistance, not even wanting to see his friend in his sight. It is hard enough to digest his defeat, seeing Alfred focusing and being so good in what he does just makes everything worse. The streets echo the sounds of their steps which sometimes provide gentle tapping and crunching of snow. The breeze, the light and the darkness swallows, surrounds and beyond the borders of the weak lamps’ rays, Arthur wonders about the hidden dangers Alfred talks about. What could the streets, gloomy shadows or corners covered in black show anything new to him? Avoiding getting hit or dodging attacks in general was on his daily routines once and feeling confidence grow in his chest, Arthur believes he could handle everything at this point again. He has more strength than ever, after all.

Reaching the area of the downtown district, Alfred’s complete attire changes. His posture, normally casually loose shoulders, easy steps and hands held merely in his pockets without any stiff move, transform into something Arthur would recognise to be similar to a predator’s pacing. A canine or a larger feline with the shoulders flexed down and slightly backwards, elbows pulled slightly back if he’ll jump into running in an instant it’d be easier to help the acceleration, hips and spine moving in one vertical angle. Suddenly becoming aware of his own pose, Arthur wonders if his posture would be efficient if there’s be a chase, after all, he’s not use to sprints... usually when they jog, they do some warming-up beforehand.

“We’re close,” the voice of his partner also dropped; fixing his eyes on his entire surroundings, Alfred barely opens his mouth.

“How do you know?”

“Just listen and watch.”

For a couple of seconds Arthur is puzzled, his eyes dart to alleys and intersections but when Alfred clears his voice the Englishman’s attention perks even higher.

“I’ll yell now. Don’t be scared. If he jumps up and starts running, we’ll go after him. Remember: his left leg is limp, he’s short and probably has weapon.”

“Wait, what? How do you know he’s here?”

“I’ve known it for a while. I’ll tell you later. Shh!” He clears his throat and suddenly stops walking, making Arthur stop abruptly as well. It takes only a few seconds as their gazes meet, radiant blue with wide, alarmed and poisonously vivid green.

The streets carry the sound of Alfred’s voice before it echoes and leaves the air in frost silence again. The young man shouts as if Arthur had startled him and would be shocked, holding the other’s gaze sternly but in fact his voice brought chills on the blonde’s spine. Surprise and a previously unknown jolt of thrill sends electricity down his form as he spots the indeed short man, around a hundred meters ahead of them now bolting from a corner. The man in shaggy black coat pretends to stumble and hold onto a wall but even Arthur could see that it is only an act. The man looks back at them through his dirty, shoulder-long hair, his gaze wakes something inside the Englishman that fast grabs a hold on the situation. There’s the target.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he flexes his arms, shoulders and tightens his fist into an iron-tight grip. His legs tingle from the inside, feet restless and with a deeper breath he glances up on his partner, only to see the same effects. Alfred’s eyes carry the same wildness, that uncanny instinct of hunt when their conscious removes every other reasonable thoughts and suddenly becomes aware of the surroundings in a different aspect.

The target limps. Can’t run fast, which means in short-distance he’s more dangerous. His tactics are defensive mannered, just like Arthur’s but since he’s older he’s more experienced either in dodging or creating blockades for his attackers. In the coat there must be weapons. Knife or gun, preferably knife since it’s easier to carry, a gun has more weight and is more dangerous for the self as well. The target doesn’t have many options to escape, though in alleys he can hide. Keeping him away from alleys is important. Alfred will directly attack, he’ll be the chaser.

“Behind the trashbin.”

“From the right,” Alfred nods, rolling his shoulders and watching the criminal stumbling, a quite horrible act of pretending to be drunk. “I’ll take him down.”

“Right. I’m the back-up.”

A silent pause is between them, a moment before both begin to run but since either of them knows exactly when should they step into sprinting, the sounds and puffs of their breath fill the space. First to move is Alfred but predictably Arthur is the one practically bolting from his place and with his actions he both surprises and pleases his new partner. The slightly shorter man steps in front of the other just to jump out on the open road of the town and run as fast as he could to cut the ways of escape from the criminal. The man in the shaggy coat shudders and holds onto the wall before turning and beginning to run as well, no matter how ridiculously slow and painful his motions seem. Arthur is quick in getting to the other side of the street and on his way, checks the cars and alleys as well: all empty or insignificant.

The fugitive pushes the trash-bin and its contains pour out on the pavement. The crashing sound pierces through the numb street, shadows and frozen wind carry the noise along with the tapping of the two men’s feet. Alfred is already there, without a struggle he leaps through the rubbish and is quick to grab the sleeve of the man, with a thunder-fast jerk he drags the fugitive to the wall but with that he provokes the criminal to pull his knife out. The blade flashes in the pale street lights, forcing Alfred to jump back several steps and stabilize his position. Arthur is late, he states inside and decides to act anyway.

“Let me go! Back off!”

The dirty man stinks from sweat and the filth of travelling; the blue-eyed man knows in an instant that the criminal is on the last string of his patience as well. Judging the edge of his words, the high-pitched voice which resembles the tone of a caged and starved animal only looking for a small opportunity to break free, Alfred tightens his fist and once again, reconsiders his own options. His mind closes the environment out and focuses only on the rather unstable person in front of him.

“I know who you are, kid!” The man spits, even in the weak light of the dark street Alfred can see his teeth flash. “I’ll tell everyone about you!”

Being distracted by talking, the man is unable to react in time when Alfred steps forwards and with a simple move grabs his wrist and turns it up and out, forcing it to drop the weapon in an instant while his other hand delivers a forceful hit in the old man’s guts to bring him down on his knees. What he doesn’t expect is that the criminal knows the technique: he puts his injured leg in front of himself and grabs the American’s hip, by that confusing the young man. Eyes widened in shock and alarm, the bespectacled tries to jerk his whole body back but the old fox reaches into his own coat again, takes another knife out and is ready to plunge it in between the ribs.

Green eyes fuming in poisonous rage scan the scene. He has seconds left to act.

In the frantic struggle the dark-blonde barely registers the powerful kick that brings the fugitive off him but hears as the man yelps in pain and anger; like a furious animal he’s ready to stand again but meets a quick sting into the junction of his shoulder. Without even seeing the flash of the next attack, he loses his balance as a fist punches directly into the upper part of his stomach, right below his ribs and thus blocking his breathing and for a deadly moment even his heartbeat skips from the impact. Stumbling backwards, the only notion he has in mind is to raise his arms in defence though this makes his situation even worse. This other attacker makes his arms go limp in a second and the shot of fury fills the old man’s whole mind again as he sees the taller, spectacled man blocking his way from the other side of the road. He’s trapped.

The last thing his conscious notes is that a sharp hit, more like a thorough sting finds the middle of his chest above his heart, and another, much heavier punch from the side encloses him into darkness.

. . .

The police station in Augusta is a white building behind a huge park. The entrance is small and although there are more gates, the one Alfred uses is the most obvious one: the front. Arthur has no idea what is to come, it doesn’t matter that he’s read the rules on the website, the flow of events leave him in uncertainty. Dragging the tied up fugitive from the backseat and taking him on the shoulder as if the man hadn’t any weight in particular, Alfred motions towards the station and the Englishman begins to walk behind him.

Regardless of the late hour, the officer in the entrance hall greets them with cheerful welcome; Arthur is taken aback by the enthusiasm however Alfred is more than ready to act the same as the young police staff. He practically drops the old man from his shoulder to the floor (ignoring his yelp of pain) and squeezes the offered hand of the officer tight, “finally, good to see you.”

“Same here, my boy, and it’s my job to say ‘finally’. This one took a while for you to catch.”

Arthur’s eyes slightly widen at the statement, he even takes a step back hesitantly when Alfred scratches the nape of his neck apologetically, makes a face and shrugs, “Yea’, this knew how to hide well. ‘Had to know his habits first.”

“It’s good that he’s here,” nods the black-haired man, he places his hands on his hips in a rather self-assured way that matches the shift of weight he makes from one foot to another. “That’s where he belongs... now, come on and take your reward.”

“Amm, just a sec, mister?” Alfred pretends to hesitate, Arthur knowss the childish act in his voice too well to sense what is to come; the stranger policeman in the black uniform raises an eyebrow and his eyes jump onto the Englishman in an instant, realizing his existence and his being in the station as well. The moment their eyes meet, Arthur feels his iris widen in terror; he’s quick to pull himself together this time but when Alfred clears his throat, the blonde squeezes his eyes shut.

 _No._ _Don’t...._

“That’s my partner. I mean, I’m training him to be but he was a great help tonight. You might see him later again,” he announces, beaming with bright satisfaction and pride at the mention of ‘his’ training. “Actually we knocked this guy out together!” He adds, cheerful pride rings in his voice

“Nice, nice,” the officer nods and measures Arthur, eyes running up and down on his figure with the icy, stinging absence of interest. “Alright, stay here until Jones finishes the paperwork.”

“I’ll be right back,” beams the dark-blonde and seeing those sky-blue eyes dancing and sparkling in happiness restores a tad bit of Arthur’s confidence as well. He hums and watches as two other officers pull the fugitive away on the ground (still holding him tied) and silently bears the sight of his partner disappearing behind a glass door which leads further into the station. The only opportunity to occupy himself with is sitting down and trying to cope with his fundamental fear of police officers.

. . .

Apparently for Alfred their success equals celebration in the same restaurant they visited when Arthur decided to move in with him. He orders a bunch of chocolate muffins, steaks for both of them, French fries (chips!) and cola. Upon seeing the vast image of food in front of himself Arthur braces himself inside and resists a shudder. He’s going to throw up just from the sight of those huge plates and when they arrive he indeed feels a foreshadow of defeat.

The hero munches, swallows, drinks and meanwhile his gaze wanders all around the peaceful, silent and nearly empty diner. When his eyes find Arthur he smiles with a closed-mouth beam, occasionally grunts and hums in contentment. Indeed, the blonde himself allows a tiny smile on his lips, seeing his friend in such an elated state of being.

Time goes by, the dessert arrives and though Arthur is more than full, Alfred is ready to take a bite of muffin into his mouth; although his motions are beginning to slow both in speed and enthusiasm. He’s getting his tummy full after a tiring and risky night of work and feels uplifted by having his friend close to him (the sentiments urge him to entwine their fingers, blinking and humming knowingly when he spots the soft redness on the other’s cheeks), having double-chocolate muffins and seeing the world falling back into its right order. The share of their desserts, the reward for the fugitive, Arthur gently holding his hand fills a previously unknown void in the young man’s heart and sends comfortable warmth to pool in all parts of his being.

As if it was the most heart-warming scene ever in his life, Arthur curses himself for his soft feelings towards this young man. The hard moments, the risky seconds seem distant and insignificant compared to what he has now...

“Man, I need a chocolate-mint shake too.”

A giant, endless vortex of fast-food consumption.

Merely sighing, Arthur talks to the lady behind the counter to have a large sized shake for the hero, just to distract the staff a little... knowing that probably the whole restaurant focuses on their ‘lovely’ interaction. In the small intermission he leans in a little and whispers in the space between them, cautious eyes directly gazing into the content blue ones.

 “You know... you still haven’t told me how did you know he was there?”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, darts his eyes first to left then to the right as a display of confusion, shakes his head then swallows the large bite he held inside his mouth, “you mean... the old man?”

“Yes.”

With a simple shrug and a pull on his lips as if it was another general fact of the universe Arthur misses, the young man hums, “I’ve been tracking him for two months, I got to know his routes and reactions. Psychology and deduction, mainly. I recognised him around eleven o’clock and by the time we actually met him he wandered into the district I wanted him to go. You’ll know that technique too, soon. For the first hunt, you were awesome.”

That doesn’t exactly give the answer he wanted, but definitely, it’s answer... what he gets afterwards is the reply he wouldn’t expect at all. It leaves him dumbstruck, green eyes widened with disbelief and sudden anger at the other with the urge to object in the very second...

“Look, in gaming terms I’d say you’re a noob and for a minute I wasn’t even sure if you were really there or not but we did just fine.”

“I made sure the street is clear, isn’t that among the things that has to be done? I arrived as fast as I could but you were already in trouble, he almost got you!” He hisses back, fighting to maintain his control since in the restaurants they must keep their conversation as quiet as possible.

“Yes, but you were the one saying to be the back-up! I thought you’ll be right behind me but shoot it, you were just a bit late,” and he bits into a muffin again, looking straight in the other’s eyes with such confidence that causes Arthur to open his arms in surrender.

“Alright. What are you suggesting?” He places his arms back on the table but crosses them, meaning to keep his opinion for himself; the way of communication Alfred knows like the palm of his hand. In the end, the American even chuckles a little, shifts and stands to change his place and sit right beside his new partner on the other side of the table, to look in his eyes and by this, tell him about his trust, reassurance and simple presence as well. His nearness causes Arthur to pull his hands into his lap protectively and to keep the distance he wishes for; nevertheless Alfred smiles and fights the desire to take Arthur’s jaw into his hands and plead for his attention in that way.

Right there, right then, he can only look in the overwhelmed, intimidated still breathtakingly hoping eyes and wish that his words will carry the meaning and affection he carries in his chest.

“I’m trying to say that since that moment, you’re the bravest man I’ve known in my life, and I’m proud of you,” here, he chuckles and has to break their gaze for a second before glancing back. “And of course, proud of myself too.”

. . .

Again... again, they are not at home, not in the sheltering warmth and behind closed doors, they’re out and open for intruders, gazes... in that very moment, Arthur’s body, soul and heart is in sweltering fire. He can’t help it, the only action he’s capable of doing is grasping the hand squeezing his and giving in his weaknesses. He’s ashamed, pathetic, his cheeks and ears are burning in embarrassment, just how _cheesy and awkward_ they can get but it’s still not enough?

If they’d be at home... or just in the car, in a place not so open, Arthur would bet they’d lose their precious control that is already dancing on the edge of a blade. They’d lose it and throw all of the rules away. Alfred would already be on top of him hugging him tight or the other way around and the world would be shut out for the next few hours.

Oh, how bad he wishes for that to happen. It takes his breath away and twirls his senses.

. . .

One thought lingers in his mind on the way home and as he stares out on the car’s window he allows a smile to hide in the corner of his mouth. Alfred’s hand caresses his on the top of his thigh and no matter how intimate it is Arthur doesn’t know when he felt the same secure openness with him the last time. It has been long... far too long. Since New Year’s Eve.

“Let’s get some cookies on the way back.”

Frowning, the Englishman grunts in protest and glances at the full tummy of the otherwise fit and lean friend who looks back at him with the best set of his puppy-eye collection.

“Just one box of muffins theen!” He nags, earning a tired moan again.

“Do you just ever get tired of eating?”

At that, the dark-blonde rolls his eyes in consideration, pretends to think deeply and as a reply he merely hums.

“Ummmm... no. There’s a shop on the next corner.”

. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like it?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence, injury, long chapter

It has been a long and adventurous ride. After the first successful hunt the amount of change in his life he experienced would take hours to list; not to mention the improvement he went through. Studying thousands of pages of psychology, criminology and law Arthur has become an unofficial criminologist and detective, all at once. He has accompanied Alfred on all patrols the man had, listened to his elaborations when he drew profiles of criminals. The cases varied but Alfred himself stated that since Arthur is an absolute newbie, he picked only low-rated and easy targets even if this shrinks his own reputation in the profession as well.

Once Arthur will develop his own preferences, once he will trust his surroundings along with his own boundaries, he’ll pick another hard case... until then, only vandals or scared-off fugitives.

. . .

Their last hunt has also been successful and in the morning Arthur left early for his morning-shift.  He still remembers the sight of his partner dozing off in the bed, wearing nothing just a tank top with briefs and covered by the duvet only up to his waist... the man woke only for a few minutes after being disturbed by Arthur who was shifting from his arms and leaving him alone. He remembers the expression Alfred had; bitter, hurt and forlorn, Arthur could swear the man shut his eyes only to avoid seeing him getting ready to leave. As an apology Arthur reminds himself for probably the twentieth time that day to buy ice-cream, marmalade and milk on the way home so he could bake pie for the hero.

Frowning, he fills a nearly empty shelf with the needed books... since when should he apologize for leaving to work in the morning? Since when should he feel guilty for leaving Alfred to sleep alone? Since... since when does he feel guilty for climbing out of the warm shelter of the other’s arms and leave for a day before seeing him again? He tries to dismiss the thought that it can’t be helped.

His heart clenches, aches and beats painful thumps of longing. Five hours left, and he’ll see him again. Five hours. Two from his shift and then three before Alfred comes home. Has he become over-sensitive or not but every time he hears the bell of the door he glances up and reminds himself that Alfred is also at work. Just because he hopped in once several months ago don’t mean he’d hop in again, nevertheless agonizingly Arthur admits the shameful and pathetic fact: he misses Alfred.

. . .

The pie is still warm, ready to be eaten... coffee-machine ready, laptop on the table... bed made, sheets clean. The ruined uniform from weeks ago became a cloth for wiping dust, he has that among his fingers when hears the doorknob turning. As a habit he and Cookie exchange surprised, excited looks and both of them go to greet the tired hero after his day of work. Though Alfred is exhausted and takes his black BestBuy jacket off with careworn moves and stretches his shoulder before turning but in the very instant his eyes are laid upon the two eager members of his tiny family, his scowl vanishes. His eyes, grumbling ocean blue lightens up with a spark of freshness that clears all clouds and lets the shine beam through along with the warm, grateful smile he welcomes them. Arthur feels his own heart leap, it’s nearly painful how harshly it pumps against his ribcage, almost trying to crave itself into Alfred’s embrace; with an apologetic smile he accepts the man’s tight hug and holds him close by curling his arms around the wide, firm shoulders. The cat meows and brushes itself against the man’s shins, demands attention but is neglected until Alfred feels content and sated enough to move his cheek and nose from Arthur’s neck, slowly peeling his arms off the man’s figure.

These times, no matter how piercingly true it sounds, Arthur wishes he’d have the opportunity to greet him every single day like this, in the rest of his life. The brush of Alfred’s lips on his skin sends warmth through his entire body along with the realization how bad he wishes for more.

Alfred breaks all physical contact soon and turns towards the kitchen to start is daily routine of making coffee and food but the sight leaves him astounded.

Pie with ice-cream on top, coffee, laptop ready to be used... Alfred turns around and before Arthur could resist, places a kiss on the man’s cheek which runs jolts of electricity through the Englishman’s skin into his entire body, “you’re incredible, Arthur. And I don’t even have a birthday or anything.” He sighs and sits in wonder, marvelling the sight in front of him. The pie is slightly burnt on the sides and on the top as well, but it’s well hidden by the ice-cream topping... he tried his best, after all. This grumpy Englishman who objects in every single strategy he brings up, in every single plan he’d have in mind and every single time they are in the supermarket. The only person who taught him how to use the kettle and make tea, how to wash uniforms separately and when to use bleach and how to fold his underwear space-efficiently instead of throwing them in the drawer. Such simple things about life that no one has taught him before and Arthur did all with patience (barely held, though) and in an endearingly tolerant way. This bony, thin person with such willpower he’s never witnessed before; in learning and getting adjusted to all that would otherwise chase him away. The thought brings another delightful spark into the blue when he sees that Arthur is not bony anymore as his first impression had stuck and told him before.

Affection bursts with a nearly violent beat of his heart along with the heat that pools in his lower abdomen. He’d love to touch Arthur, pull him close and keep him there, take his cheeks into his palms and caress him, give tiny pecks on the freckles and feel his alluring scent in his nose but he cannot. Not yet. The person in mention surely has the same struggle still there’s that last obstacle that holds him back and Alfred knows the end of this dilemma is not decided by him, even though he has a great part in the process. He has to be patient. That’s all he can do.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“It’s so awful you don’t even get started with it, right?” The Englishman folds his arms protectively as he grumbles, referring to the pie with a grumpy nod.

“No, I just can’t get enough of it,” the honey-blond pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a picture about the scene and saves it as wallpaper. The next thing he has in mind is making a photo with Arthur together, no matter how challenging it’ll be to convince the blonde. The amusingly apparent blush on Arthur’s cheek reminds him of the permanent giddiness he feels these times around the Englishman, the tiny, hidden smile in the corner of his lips fill his heart and veins with elated warmth. How he’d enjoy kissing that smile and have more of it.

The buzz of his phone raises his mind from the hazy fog he has sunk in; with a sigh and a resigned shake of his head Alfred pulls the device off his pocket and with a single move of his thumb, unlocks the screen to check the message. His eyes widen in the slightest and he glances up at his friend who has settled on the sofa and already has a thick book in his hand as usual.

“I’ve got news for you,” he states and begins to eat the present he’s gotten until Arthur stands from the couch and approaches to accompany him at the table. The blonde sits on the other side, arms folded and with a scowl on his face that tells how serious he is in an instant. “Firstly; the birds chirped that a friend of mine, an FBI agent is coming to Augusta to check up on me. He’s gonna be here in three weeks time and he’ll be stationed here for three months to watch our activity. You’ll have to meet him; he’s a nice guy and he knows how to pull a couple of strings to earn us support.”

“Will I have to do anything, at all?”

The young man frowns for the split of the second before replying, “not really. Just don’t comment on his talking, please. He has Hispanic origins, some consonants he pronounces sound different, on the top he’s from the South. His accent and the dialect he speaks will make it strange in the first meeting. If you don’t understand him just tell me.”

“Got it.”

“Second; this is more about us,” he places the fork down gently on the plate and licks his lower lip in order to remove the ice-cream still that motion catches Arthur’s attention in an instant. He can’t deny anymore how much it tingles in his ear every time he hears Alfred say ‘ _us_ ’. The gaze of the young man is piercing again; will, determination reflect in his iris with the embrace of radiant blue, “we’ll divide the rewards we earn from now on. I should have discussed this earlier but I don’t like talking about money,” he admits in the end with a defeated wave of his hand, at which Arthur chuckles. His laugh is empty, blank.

“And about many other things, my friend.”

“Look, who’s talking,” nodding upwards with his jaw provocatively, Alfred winks at the blonde, “so, do you want your share or not?”

“I’d appreciate the sum. Exactly how much are we talking about, in this moment?”

The question draws a reaction Arthur has never seen before; Alfred chuckles, bites on his lips and smiles at the same time, looks aside and then back at him, eyes betraying his thoughts; he can’t believe Arthur has no idea how much money is in the discussion.

“Hold on tight on that chair,” he instructs but earns a roll of Arthur’s eyes.

“Come on, you idiot.”

“No, really, I’m serious!” He lifts his hands to his chest, signing his promise to be legitimate.”That’s not pocket money that we’re getting with the rewards and as we go higher on the scales of dangerousness with criminals the higher our rewards will be. For the rapist I caught months ago, I got fifty thousand dollars. It turned out that more people were looking for him and the relatives of the victims put together a larger sum to get him to court. I was lucky that night.”

It is rather obvious the blonde lost the flow of the conversation at the mention of numbers: he gapes and clears his throat as if something’s stuck there, he can’t do anything else than shudder and imagine, transform the sum in his mind and conclude that Alfred, for catching one criminal got more than Arthur’s entire salary in the whole year.

In the whole year. Waking up for morning shifts, lifting thousands of books, putting up with unbearable customers, arriving home late, low benefits and disrespected status in society... and Alfred got _his_ entire annual salary in one night for catching a man.

The thought is way too heavy for him at that moment and suddenly he’s grateful for the silence that settles between them. Alfred is eating the pie and slurps the mug of milk, his eyes casually wander around his tiny flat and of course the final destination for his gaze is Arthur himself.

“So, gimme your bank account number I’ll send you the money. I’ve counted everything on the way home.”

“Holy Christ, Alfred, this is... huge, like...”

“That’s what she said.”

What an egoistic, swell-headed, bumptious brat, and that arrogant grin on his face!

“You’re not getting pie ever again,” the blonde states with an icy glare, lips pursed.

The obnoxious self-confidence is wiped in a moment and is replaced with the whining of a four years old kid, “nooo way, now why? I was just joking, old man!” He even lifts his hands in defeat and pushes himself away from the table, not even looking at Arthur, “but I haven’t done anything!”

. . .

Much to Arthur’s chagrin the next hunt doesn’t promise high rewards. Now with the splitting of it, even less. When the first transferred amount of money arrives to his bank account that night, he merely stares at the screen of his cell phone, a wide smile spreading on his face before turning around in the bed and almost jumping on Alfred’s dozing figure to grab his attention, “you know what?”

“Woah, there,” the young American is puzzled for a second, his hair is a mess and his gaze is unfocused without his glasses, nevertheless he tries his best to compose himself. Merely in a tank top, his shoulders and arms seem even muscular than with a shirt on; Arthur feels more stabile while supporting himself on the man’s chest with one hand, the other elbow sinking in the mattress.

“I know what I’ll do with this,” he informs his partner, earning a peaceful smile in return and a gentle caress with Alfred’s thumb on his chin.

“Tell me more?”

“I’ll design and order us equipment.”

He can’t miss how Alfred’s gaze slips from his eyes to his lips and back, unconsciously the blonde licks his lower lip in response and resists the urge to lean in and comply his lust. The glimpse of attention fades in the sky-blue eyes as well; the hero’s chest rises as he takes a deeper breath and hums. His pulse beats right under Arthur’s hand.

“I’ll order something customized, I have a plan in mind for a while. Tomorrow I’ll make a sketch so you can see it too.”

“Does it include an acronym for my name and yours?” The caress on his chin slows, Arthur rolls his eyes in consideration.

“It could as well.” Like the superheroes, right? The frank, toothy smile he earns will definitely worth the bother to wear a ‘uniform’.

“Sweet.”

. . .

Alfred’s plan was plain and easy. Surrounding the robber, Arthur’s task was to dodge and block the way and only intervene if necessary. The target had a long dagger with himself that he pulled upon seeing Alfred on the first sight but the American didn’t back down at all. In the end, the blade was the smallest trouble they had to face.

The young robber knew how to run away. He was agile, fast and eager to leave no traces; he climbed on the fire-ladders and gone through high obstacles easily as well: years of practice ran under his feet. He seemed unstoppable: not even dead-ends could block his way.

And that was the point when Arthur decided to walk off the rules Alfred has set for him before: the voice in the back of his mind had a snarky comment about ‘back to the roots’ and then it all ticked in for the young immigrant. Leaving the scene by running away from the alley, he confused both the robber and Alfred as well; for the moment the hero threw his hands up in disbelief and annoyance, nervous thoughts crossed his mind and in his startled state of mind he let the criminal slip away. He cursed, Arthur never heard him swear before, and ran after the young fugitive by himself. He chased, climbed, jumped but the target didn’t let him get close to him in more than five inches: his blade could have cut through Alfred’s clothing, bullet-proof vest included.

Two blocks later, it happened. Alfred managed to hit the robber who stumbled backwards but flashed the blade at him again so the hunter had to jump back yet again: by a larger trash container. Alone he could only tire the robber out and look for his exhausted swings to find a weak split of the moment: in that particular one he stepped forward to grab his arm but the criminal, being more experienced than him, swung and cut his skin open with a quick move. Victory poured from the grin of the young fugitive, he backed a few feet back till Alfred tightly held his injured hand; and didn’t realize his position.

Both heard a loud _dump_ noise but hadn’t time to dart their eyes in the direction; the robber stood a few feet far from the container and couldn’t even pull his hands up to protect himself from the impact when two boots met his head from the side, jerking him at the other wall where his brain met yet another strong hit. He released a moan before checking the blood on his hand that he put to his hair, and collapsed.

Beside Alfred, Arthur was still slightly panting in a squatting position with his hands held tight on his right ankle, eyes fixed on the troublesome man on the floor. When Alfred had come to himself after the shock, he realized in the instant that he had not one, but two persons to carry in the hospital.

“Just how weird can you even get?!” He yells without meaning any offence and throws his hands up in defeat.

“Would you mind helping me up first?”

. . .

In the first floor the police officers secured the corridors and all entrances, especially around the surgery the fugitive is being treated. They check all Ids and as predicted all logs are watched in the entire complex, including Alfred’s and Arthur’s location as well in the other building. The honey-blonde sits nervously beside the highly lifted bed where Arthur has been placed, holding his injured hand in the thick bondage he’s been treated with. In less than three feet the blonde can’t lift his eyes from the ground in the crushing shame he bears on his shoulders. Even his tiny puffs of air seem to be offensive towards his very own and Alfred’s person, the desire to disappear is so intensive he can only grit his teeth in agony. Alfred feels betrayed and disappointed and it’s all his fault. He’s wandered off the plan. Now who’s the foolish one?

They’re still waiting for the results of Arthur’s ankle X-ray and the dreadful anticipation is nerve-wrecking: clicking the joints in his hand the Englishman squeezes his eyes shut. The memory of another accident finds its way to the surface and as predicted he pulls his elbows tight to his figure and bows his head down.

He didn’t realize that Alfred was watching him from the corner of his eyes, now as the man stands and his figure is still tall however Arthur’s the one sitting on a high-set bed, perplexes the blonde even more. The intense stare of the other draws all blood into his cheeks, shame and embarrassment shine in his eyes which he keeps down; he can’t bear the way Alfred decides to sit beside him and entwine their fingers so casually while his expression is still sour and burdened with Arthur’s injury. One half of him craves to be touched, to be pulled close and held tight to the other’s chest while the other half urges him to pull away, not deserving the caring he receives. In the end he doesn’t move at all.

“I hope it’s not broken,” he says in a low, almost apologetic voice, earning a simple grunt from the hero.

“Me too. But if it is, we’ll find something out.”

“I won’t be able to work, then.”

Frowning in worry, the bespectacled turns his head and searches for his friend’s gaze but the blonde shut his eyes and releases a tired sigh, “if they fire me, I can say goodbye to my Green Card.”

“You don’t have it yet?” The response is the shake of head, just enough. “Right, one year is not enough.”

For a good while, none of them feels the urge to talk and with the monotone caresses of Alfred’s thumb on his hand soothes Arthur enough to let himself lean against the firm, solid shoulder that’s been offered to him. The familiar figure of the doctor is nowhere to be seen and Arthur uses this opportunity to take a good deep breath from the scent of the leather jacket.

“I can’t wait to be home,” he utters and sighs at the resigned tone of the other.

“Me either.”

. . .

It wasn’t broken.

The relief could be equalled to the one they have had if one of them would have morning sickness and was proved not to be pregnant. Arthur can’t help but sigh and squeeze Alfred’s hand while the man releases a huge puff of air that he seemed to hold since the doctor has entered their room from the corridor.

He’ll have to wear a removable plastic cast and have a gel applied on it in every four hours in the next three days, every six hours after then for two weeks. He’s been banned from jogging and all kinds of activities that include jumping or putting more than average pressure on his ankle bones.

He could go to work with only one warning and a message to his boss (written and signed by the doctor himself) that he is not allowed to work in the storage room or to fill the shelves with piles of books. At least for two weeks. He’s registered to come for another X-ray as well.

. . .

Struggling with his pride he managed to suffer his way out to the car but when they arrived home and Alfred helped him to get out, on the mere sight of the stairs Arthur shook his head and asked for Alfred’s arm to hold onto. In the dim, yellow light of the old bulb his tired eyes missed a step and slipped but thanks to his friend’s firm hold he didn’t fall right on his face. What the bespectacled does after that left the blonde dumbstruck for several seconds after; instead of helping him climbing the stairs Alfred went for the most easiest idea and picked him up into his arms.

Bride style it is, Arthur’s arms awkwardly hanging in his neck and his face flaming in redness that he tries to hide as much as he can. The stabile hold under his knees and behind his back is incredibly strange since he’s never been carried before thus it’s even harder to admit it actually makes him feel safe and cared for. He only realizes the joy of this whole carrying-thing when he places his palm right above Alfred’s heart and through the shirt and tank top he can feel the heat radiating and the breath the other takes right then, eyes looking down, lips pursed. He’s probably never been closer to his lips before. The pull his entire body insists on is nearly irresistible.

He is the one to fish the keys out of the leather jacket’s pocket and he grits his teeth at the change of position. Leaning back in Alfred’s arm and aimlessly looking for the keychain among other things he also tilts his head thus offers a plain and rather inviting part of his neck with his collarbone showing under his tee. He knows it all when he finds the key and with a triumphant look unites their gazes only to melt his own newfound pride away. Alfred’s been watching him. The whole time, since he has taken him into his arms. It pleases him: his blue eyes radiate how fast his heart beats and how much he struggles to control his emotions inside. The love and caring along with the relief (that nothing serious has happened to Arthur) is a clear message which erupts upon seeing the blush blooming on the blonde’s cheeks.

“Please put me down as soon as we get in.”

With a nod, the American hums and obeys him by gently placing him on the bed but actually this only makes the situation worse. By merely standing there, scratching the nape of his neck and looking at Arthur with an expectant look, the frustration grows in the Englishman; “make yourself useful, would you?”

“No shit, I’m trying. I’ve never had partners before?” The young man opens his arms and shrugs dismissively, “are you hungry or something?”

“Go, fetch me a sandwich then,” the blonde shrugs as well and leans back between the duvets to sigh. The implications of his request reach him a few seconds later and again pull a flaming blush on his cheeks he can’t wipe off, not even when Alfred walks in a few minutes later with a quite obvious blush on his face as well. The fact that the innuendo didn’t fly over Alfred’s normally oblivious mind twirls Arthur’s torture into downright suffering. The young hero tries to show confident as always but the tight pursing of his lips betray his shyness. His voice however displays disbelief and a bit of irony.

“Did you just tell me to make you a sandwich?”

The seconds stretch in a way too awkward, nearly unbearable silence until Arthur finally grows enough confidence to clear his throat and unintentionally make the situation even worse.

“Yea, with butter please!”

“Right, with whipped cream and cherry on top?” Alfred almost snaps back; face red as the fruit he mentioned.

They are not having this conversation. Arthur squeezes his eye shut and as he feels the goose bumps of sheer awkwardness grow, he takes a deep breath... but Alfred is still standing in front of him, and yes, there _is a sandwich in his hand._

They are the worst. Hopeless.

In the end, since Alfred is incapable of handling such tensions he just leaves the sandwich on a plate beside the blonde and exists the room. A few seconds it takes, and he’s already killing his frustration in his video game but by this he left Arthur in the bedroom. The Englishman quietly eats the sandwich with the blush that just doesn’t want to leave, before calling his friend’s name again and scold him for leaving him behind.

“I thought you needed some space.”

For some reason the excuse interrupts all grumbling in his head and catalyzes different, even more troubling thoughts. 

 

. . .

Awkward, frustrating, humiliating. He can’t think about it otherwise. He’s never wanted to depend on Alfred more than necessary but right now it’s unavoidable. He can’t jump around on one foot, it’s even more ridiculous and after accidentally bumping into the doorstep Arthur finally realizes that it’s hopeless. He needs Alfred’s help in moving around, even in going to the bathroom. His removable cast and the bondage underneath is way too tight and sensitive for him to handle not to mention the piercing, blinding pain he feels every time his feet touch the ground. A part of him doubts the doctor’s words and wonders if his ankle is actually broken or not.

He has no idea how he’ll do on his workplace. Without Alfred it seems absolutely pointless to go. The boy is supportive and that ridiculously awful moment aside he’s discreet about Arthur’s current situation. He’s helping around with moving, functions as pillow on the couch on which Arthur can lie on and drift to sleep, holds him up and occasionally checks the position of Arthur’s ankle as well.

The breaking point in their harmony comes after a few hours of peace when Arthur realizes the time (noticing the sunrays of dawn penetrating from the windows), and wishes to have a shower. He struggles his way with Alfred’s help in the bathroom and sits on the edge of the tub with a clearly annoyed expression on his face. There isn’t enough light in the tiny space for his eyes to adjust easily, his vision is blurred and when he reaches for his socks he bumps his injured leg in the washing machine. Alfred winces upon hearing his painful yelp.

“Bloody hell, I’ll never jump ever again,” he mumbles and grips his shin tightly but that doesn’t erase the pain. Seeing his agony, Alfred bites on his own lip and sighs before kneeling down and taking the matters into his hands. He’s gentle, pulling Arthur’s hand away and nudging him to lift his arms a little so he can start unbuttoning the shirt he wears. It takes a few moments until Arthur realizes what he’s doing and of course he tries to dismiss his help. “I can do it, thank you.”

“Yea, you’ll wake the whole neighbourhood. If they call the cops they’ll assume I beat you.”

“Or something else,” he chuckles, at this point he almost enjoys the reddening of the other’s cheeks. “I’ll manage, really!”

Hearing the disguised annoyance doesn’t surprise the American in the slightest; with a roll of his eyes he lets Arthur shrug his shirt and take the tank top off but yet again, he has to lean onto the young man not to stumble or lose his balance when he decides to loosen in belt. He bumps into him and naturally Alfred is more than ready to catch him, one hand holding him still, the other flipping his belt open—actually, opening Arthur’s jeans to yank them down on his hips.

Most definitely he’s not going to let that happen!

“Stop undressing me you twat! All you do is going on my nerves all the time!” He spats, pushing himself away and (luckily) finding balance at the edge of the tub. His eyes throw thunder and annoyance as he glares at the young man who frowns back at him, obvious hurt shining in the blue.

“I’ve seen you almost-naked before, it’s not a big deal?”

Right. He did. At their very first meeting. He helped him then and is ready to be there again even if he has to fight his way through Arthur’s impossible personality. His only intention is to help so much it’s nearly unbearable and suddenly Arthur feels the usual devastating emptiness as if he was nothing compared to the bright, gorgeous man in front of him. All he’s done is messing Alfred’s plans up and being a burden by not knowing anything about his profession. Why the enthusiasm? It was his own fault to fall on his foot badly and bruising it. He was the one wandering off the plan and then ended up with an injury that can easily cost his job. Heroes shouldn’t put up with such disobedient partners... he deserves someone better, who is worthy to be by his side. In the end it was always Arthur who doesn’t deserve his gentleness.

“It’s not about that,” glancing down, Arthur _ts_ ks with his tongue and fidgets a little. “You shouldn’t be helping me at all. It’s my cross to bear.”

At that the hero straightens his spine and with a rather deep grunt simply waves Arthur’s confession aside with a thumb brushing on the linen of his jeans soothingly, “don’t punish yourself for the circumstances. I want to help you.”

“I don’t deserve your help after messing up your plan and the whole hunt,” he covers his jeans protectively from the firm hands that take a hold on his wrists. Resisting and putting up a rather stupid fight for his belt, Arthur insist on a glaring-competition which he loses way too early. Alfred is not going to let him sulk or sink into his self-destructive tendencies. His whole posture and being speaks of determination, eyes vividly asking him to stop.

“It was an accident, Arthur.”

His voice is a gentle call, not the one Arthur expected to hear.

Such a fuss about dressing him down. It shouldn’t be so stressful, it should be smooth and natural for both of them... for God’s sake they are sleeping together for months and cuddling in front of the telly every single day! His chest tightens in the sudden swelter of his agony; it is only his messed up person who’s standing in the way of their happiness. He should be able to open his arms and let Alfred help him out of his clothes. He’s ready. He’s been waiting for months to be so close to him again, he can see the well controlled desire in his radiant blue eyes. And he’d be tender, no matter how much Arthur’s trembling under his fingers.

“It was not your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Don’t patronize me,” retorts the blonde, insisting on his point so much.

Of course, he has to keep on fighting... even if it’s exhausting for himself as well.

“You’ll hurt yourself more like this. Let me help you.”

“Alfred, please,” the _look_ , the strongly dismissive and silencing look he shots back is meaningless for the bespectacled man. Even that... the thought raises the awareness in the blonde, green eyes widen and he only grasps on his belt tighter. He’s so close to him, warmth inviting to calm him and take care of him. The pull is already taking his breath away, leaving him with weak attempts and a tightness in his chest. Why the resistance?

“Is it really such a problem for you that I want to help taking your pants off?” Even his voice, slightly pleading - slightly questioning, the blue-eyed man raises an eyebrow and lets the other steal a glance from his hopes and yet again suggesting his opinion which is oh, so obvious for Arthur as well.

Yes, his behaviour is childish, ridiculous, stubborn and pathetic, all he already knows yet it burns his ego inside. Just let it go. It’s only Alfred. His scent is in his nose, his hands are holding him not to fall, he’s ready to catch him is he would. He wants to help in all possible ways he can. It’s Alfred. His warmth, his skin, his whole presence weakens the barriers Arthur has inside. No one would know if... no one else would see if...

He doesn’t know why he’s doing it for, but reaches out to grab a handful of Alfred’s shirt, not even flinching when the man himself doesn’t look surprised at all. His breathing is right underneath Arthur’s fingers, his heart thumps with love and well controlled lust. He wouldn’t take advantage of this. He wouldn’t betray his own principles... he’d be gentle as always, always himself, _Alfred_.

“It’s not fair,” he mumbles, eyes cast down on the floor. “If I’m naked, you should be too.”

By the tight grip of his fingers, he can feel Alfred’s breaths deepen and grow long. His own chest rises and falls, eyes almost glowing in the dim light. The implications, the images flood his mind and before he could realize his own reactions he releases a puff of air between them to chew on his lower lip, “beg your pardon. I’m sorry, I mean—“

“Don’t. You have no idea how tempting this is, so...” his pulse rages against his will.

“I’m sorry,” with a pleading look he lowers his weight on the tub’s edge to glance up with an apologetic, yet endearing look. He wouldn’t release Alfred’s shirt, his weak pull draws the man to kneel in front of him and with a long caress up his thigh, take Arthur’s hand into his.

“I understand. I mean, “a hearty chuckle leave his lips before their gazes meet again, sincere sparkling blue with exhausted, lingering green. “I don’t. I can only imagine that something has happened to you and you have to fight your way through it. I... can only be proud how strong you must be for opening a door for me, no matter how much struggle you must endure.”

The warmth of his palms sooth the insides of him to the deepest pit he has known since he’s met him. Alfred’s smile is reassuring, light as the summer breeze, replenishes his anxious thoughts with the love he craves for every single minute he spends with this man. Of course he knows how tempting it is not to reach out, just a few inches, just a slight brush of fingers on that sun-kissed skin and he’d be lost. His smoky eyes betray his heart, Alfred knows what he’s thinking about and places his chin into his palm, lipsing words into his skin because it’s so tempting to reach out and take him. His uttering melts into Arthur’s veins, pulsing through his mind and catching his breath.

“I just want to help you and yet... you cannot imagine what you’re doing to me. Every day. I’ve never been so crazy for anyone before.”

Eyes locked, Alfred straightens his back to be nearly at the same eye-level as the blonde is but doesn’t lean in, _why_ , only licks his lower lip and Arthur watches the blue eyes, darkened with lust and denied control. His hands wander up on the shorter man’s sides, pressing to feel the curve of his ribs with his thumb then back to his hip bone and before he could regain his composure, Arthur releases another breathless sigh, unable to tear his eyes off from the sight of Alfred, so close. The distance shortens as the young hero leans closer, lips avoiding Arthur’s cheeks or his mouth but instead to give a long kiss into his neck as well to close the space between them. He doesn’t have to hide his awakening arousal, hands exploring again what he’s already known but never possessed.

“We should just do it. I’d take care of you,” his quiet words burst with all their wrecking lust and agony in Arthur’s mind. Of course he would. “I would never hurt you. I wouldn’t bear the thought of it.”

“I know,” barely a sound leaves his lips. “It is not you, the problem...”

“At least tell me, what can I do?”

The blue with the crystalline sparks sees into the depths of him. Sees the crushing burdens, heavy thoughts curling, flowing gently behind the atomic green barriers. It crashes him, Arthur can see the boy taking a sharp breath, haze lifting slightly off his mind. So open as never before, letting all the sorrow and betrayal fall and tear something in the young man’s soul, Arthur feels as an apologetic and yet knowing smile curls on his own lips.

“Do something for me... let me get used to you, first.”

Blushing, pursing his lips in embarrassment and tearing his eyes away just for a second, Alfred chuckles in a way that Arthur knows the dark-blonde understands him well, “I know, right. Not easy for me either. But then... you could do something too in exchange.”

Merely humming, hands stroking the gorgeous locks out of the boy’s forehead Arthur feels his chest and heart loosening with every second they spend in that tiny space together, all cards out. From now on, everything shall be even more smooth...

“Please... stick to pies, instead of scones.”

There flew the moment they had.

If glares could kill. If, merely looking at a person would freeze.

No wonder the young man escapes the bathroom and promises to bring tea back for apology.

“You selfish brat! You demanding, childish twit! If I had my left foot I would kick your fat American ass! I’m pouring my heart out to you and all you care about is your pie! The _Pie!”_

_The Pie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/reviews are welcomed! :)


	12. Warming up

 “I just want to know, why did you run away?”

He has expected this question to arise.

“He had to be deceived” he mutters in an almost apologetic voice while his eyes remain fixed in the empty space.  ”When I left and you were shocked too, he thought he won because it’s only you to fight with. He didn’t expect me to come back after you’ve shown such genuine surprise.”

“I had no idea what you’re up to,” Alfred purses his lips and clicks with his tongue in annoyance before looking directly at his partner, one hand still on the steering wheel. Arthur shrugs and pretends to adjust his injured ankle better to the floor, thus avoiding the sight of his partner and hide his weak half-smile. He outsmarted both the criminal and Alfred in one move yet he doubts if it was a rightful thing to do.

The light switches to green and Alfred lets go of the break; the car shifts into motion. Arthur sighs and shakes his head at his own foolish determination; he has no idea how will he be useful in the bookstore with an injured ankle onto which he barely can put any weight or even move it at all. Alfred has to help him with nearly everything: getting out of the car, handing him his backpack and obviously, since it’s just as idiotic to the American as to the blonde, he follows Arthur to the entrance as well.

“Give me a call and I’ll pick you up,” voice reassuring and yet echoing the worry Alfred feels, the determined blonde frowns and nods.  His reply is short and lacks emotion in order to seem unattached to the caring young man by his side; his gaze meets the suspecting one of his boss. The middle-aged man must not have any suspicion against him, them, if Arthur wanted to keep his workplace.

Such a pain he has to endure, he doesn’t even have to look to the side to feel the hurt in the vivid blue eyes. The young hero expects him to turn to him, at least say something, anything.

“Thanks. See you then.”

“Right.”

In fact, Arthur hopes the lad will remember the very first encounter of them in the bookstore. Later in the café Arthur did inform him about the conservative mind of his boss, hopefully Alfred won’t feel down for long and eventually he would remember, this is the least Arthur can think of in the moment he steps in and stumbles under the weight of his backpack and the lack of support.

His boss and another employee run to his aid and by the time he is helped to the desk of the cash register he could make up an easy yet sufficient lie to explain his injury. He slipped on the skateboard; his boss laughs and gives him a fist-bump into his shoulder, calling him “dwindling fire” and with a shake of his head the man approves that it would be reasonable to take two weeks off now, considering that the only thing he would be able to do now is handling the cash register; such thing could be done by everyone present as well.

His generosity alarms the immigrant Englishman; his frown reappears on his forehead with anxious thoughts as he attempts to prove his point; he is capable of handling customers as well as the cash register and of course, he wouldn’t want to risk anything.  The middle aged man’s eyes soften at the scene; witnessing such determination in order to seem strong, to hide the obvious shots of pain whenever the young employee’s foot touched something awakes empathy inside him.

Before dismissing him, practically sending a worker home at the very beginning of a day, he reassures the young man that his place and position won’t suffer any harm.

“We can manage for two weeks, Arthur. Go and relax, you’ve been a great help and I want you to stay strong. The goal is mutual, to have you fully recovered before joining the crew again. Call a taxi and consider it like getting two weeks vacation to get back faster into your old shape. We’ll help you out to the car, of course, you won’t have to jump on one foot.”

After one ring Alfred takes the call and Arthur rolls his eyes. With the speed of light the young hero is back in the parking lot, the Englishman doubts if he ever left the street in this short period of time. He attempts to label this ‘ridiculous’ but his conscience stings for it. His attempts at acting cold towards the young man fail since he can’t deny the light shining in his and Alfred’s eyes. Unspoken gratitude and relief hangs in the air as the American takes Arthur’s arm from the grip of the employer.

He doesn’t receive comments or knowing looks; Alfred knows him well already to suppose it’d only infuriate the blonde’s pride; he plays the sympathetic flatmate well enough for the middle-aged man to turn and leave them behind. Arthur climbs in the car with Alfred’s help, folds his arms and pretends to be lost among his troubling thoughts; the scowl on his young features grips Alfred’s tongue thus their entire road home is spent in gloomy, thick silence.

...

There isn’t much to be done, no matter how hard he looks at the laptop screen. Profiling or studying, he has no other choices than these, although the moment he takes the thick copy of Applied Psychology into his hands, time is surprisingly forgotten.

The hours pass, his notes grow upon the various subjects as he tries to draw parallels among several topics, for relaxation he chooses knitting. The cap is growing steadily and since knitting scarves is much easier, he decides to get done with the more complicated matter first.

Right before the regular time when Alfred arrives home, Arthur puts the knitting needles down (tucks them away into one of his drawers so the hero won’t spot the presents before the right time) and stares mid-air in the empty space in front of himself for several minutes. Memories, notions and definitions come up in his mind, his expressions vary from disbelief, disdain and comprehension. He tries to understand and tolerate the mere idea that in less than a day he’s become a housewife again. Knitting, doing what’s expected from him (studying) in the absence of his partner, waiting for the other to get home after a tiring day of work...

but when Alfred actually arrives home, Arthur is more than relieved to witness how these bugging thoughts lift from his mind just in an instant as his tense body eases in the man’s stabile embrace. The young man approves his progress, is ready to explain definitions from psychology and to answer questions. He has several stories to share, even though the mere idea of him gaining his experience with many risky and dangerous situation grips Arthur’s insides tight. They spend the evening on the sofa lying beside each other, Alfred has the laptop on his chest while Arthur watches and listens, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. In those hours the blonde could swear the world is as it should be.

The new information pours from Alfred’s tales. The system of respecting each other’s cases among the hunters, their alliances and unwritten laws of helping or ignoring each other, the scales of their professionalism and what is truly expected of them, it takes more than three hours for Alfred to help Arthur understand the complexity of these notions. He mentions the Great Dane multiple times and calls someone by the name The Canadian Bear, also noting that the latter is dear to him and if the man would get intro trouble he’d sit in the car and travel to Canada in the instant. Arthur smiles and hums at the display of loyalty, his impressions are being forged during the flow of their discussions. The evening goes by and Alfred helps the blonde to the bathroom where reluctantly though but leaves him to undress and have a shower by himself. Arthur is confident about his abilities, now he’s much more careful than before.

The gel is applied by Alfred. First it’s ice-cold, Arthur hisses and refuses a smooth flow of curses as the boy’s strong yet gentle fingers massage his injured ankle in a way that the cold soothes the stabbing pain. A few minutes pass until his skin is dry enough to lie down among the sheets only to be embraced into a bear hug from behind in that instant. Would he just get used to the idea of having Alfred facing him, the tensions would be considered forgotten yet whenever he sees the man in front of him even if he was the one turning around and lie half a-top of him later on, embarrassment and shame fill his entire being. The mere thought of Alfred encircling his arms around his middle draws a shudder down his spine, the shards of unwanted memories mingled and stabbing with discomfort.

“Cold?”

Alfred’s hand worms its way to the smaller man’s chest to spread his fingers and caresses his skin right above his ribs and beneath, his heart. The tender press of his lips onto Arthur’s nape sends another icy bolt down the blonde’s spine and Alfred smiles at the reaction he got, yet he finds the absence of verbal answer a bit strange. Shimming closer yet attempting to avoid all contact with the injured foot, he draws the blanket up to Arthur shoulder and sighs when he hears the man release a withheld, long breath.

“Is your leg fine?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need a pillow underneath it?”

Arthur frowns and sighs, irritation flaring his nostrils though he wonders about the suggestion for a moment, “don’t be such a worrywart, just get back here.”

The hero obeys with a wordless shake of his head and rather than expressing his true opinion he only pulls Arthur’s middle closer to himself and nudges his nose back to the man’s nape to take a long breath from his neck and lets Arthur circle his fingers around his thumb as his own hand lies limp at the blonde’s chest. There, the Englishman relaxes into his embrace and soon Alfred hears the other’s breathing gradually slowing down just as the gentle caresses cease on his hand. His arm is heavy on the man’s side, it must be slightly uncomfortable yet it is known by the young man that without the pressure of it, Arthur fidgets way too much in his sleep. Now, being held by Alfred and having his hand at his bosom to hold onto, Arthur might have a good sleep.

He would eventually turn around and worm his way closer to Alfred anyway. The dark-blonde smiles at the thought, exhausted blue blinking at the messy blond mops of hair in front of his sight and eases into the warmth, the familiar silence of the room and the gentle yet apparent hold  of Arthur’s fingers around his thumb.

He’ll recover, his mind assures him again yet Alfred has to hold a shudder back. _Arthur’ll be fine soon._ It’s a small injury. It hurts, it aches but he’ll walk again soon. Even if he was in pain now. Arthur _is_ in pain, and all he can do is help him moving around and massage the gel into his skin. No more.

The pain will stay, nonetheless.

He can’t get his mind off this. Arthur’s pain, he is hurt, weakened.

And by this, Alfred too.

. . .

As if the Englishman’s mind refused to accept his condition, it makes up entirely exhausting tasks to do; cleaning the bookshelves, reorganizing the plastic boxes in the cupboard, all those activities he oughtn’t to do or wouldn’t manage without having to stand. Merely distractions, he is quite aware that the lingering notion above his head is too piercing, blinding to face yet he was forbidden to do anything against it. The very frustration which keeps leaking into him everywhere he looked begins to crawl right underneath his skin, leaving his restless, fighting to keep his own breathing steady. Alfred worried about him.

In that very moment too.

The redemption arrives to his tired mind with an extravagant yet definitely useful idea; he collects pens, papers, Alfred’s laptop and decides to start working right away. There was no time to lose, to waste. Finally, he has the inspiration after such an ordeal!

. . .

Basically there is no point in pushing his current limits; if his ankle aches he has to sit down and ease the pressure off it, apply the gel and change the bandages. That doesn’t stop him from creating new ways of moving around, however. Resting his injured foot on a chair he pulls the object with himself and shifts his weight on his knee rather than the ankle; he makes his way to the kitchen and thus by the time Alfred is about to arrive home, fried potatoes accompanied with meat balls are anticipating his arrival on the dining table.

As Arthur looks at the culinary art he’s created on his own, a satisfied and glad hum leaves his lips before tossing the gloves aside. The only thing missing from this picture to be perfect is Alfred himself.

In the moment his mind finishes the thought, fire boils in every segment of his being; he rages and has to repress the desire to _hit_ Alfred for making this struggle happening to him. Whose fault would it be if not his? By being closed up into the flat and without the ability to move properly, all he can do is comply to the absolutely basic activities one can manage. Knitting? Reading? Cooking? Like a housewife?

De-masculated and hurt, Arthur sits on the sofa and crosses his arms as he munches on a haphazardly made sandwich, frowns and grunts even; unacceptable. The only soothing thought he has in mind is the surprise he prepared for the hero; judging from his previous reactions, Arthur hopes the man will be delighted to see his plans.

The moments pass without providing answers for his anticipation; he sits and waits, what else can he do, the door opens a few minutes later and Alfred steps in. Cookie runs to greet him, tail held high in the air yet the pet receives only a few strokes. Apparently Alfred is not in a good mood, grunts as he kicks his shoes off and practically shoves his jacket up the wall before stepping into the living room, as an effect of these violent sounds all hair stand on edge on Arthur’s back and on his neck. Without the need to turn around he knows that Alfred’s whole appearance radiates tension, his shoulders are stiff and his glare is further darkened by the scowl sitting stubbornly on his face. He doesn’t have to see it to imagine.

What is just the cherry on top of the dark-blonde’s day, he senses in an instant that something is off; “you okay?”

His voice sends ice down the blonde’s spine with dread. His pupils widen and unconsciously his entire figure suddenly shrinks into the state of a caged animal, waiting for the first strike. His breathing, he is aware, it became silent, insufficient puffs of air but the strong grip in his chest and throat doesn’t allow him take more.

“I am, okay,” he manages to force the answer out of lips, green eyes springing to the sight of his injured foot. No, Alfred won’t hurt him. He wouldn’t.

Without realizing, Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and forces a shuddering breath back down his own windpipe, causing himself to bend a little forward, openly displaying what Alfred attempted to avoid in the first place.

Now there is an apparent scowl on the young man’s face, he even puts his hands on his waist in annoyance before shaking his head with obvious disapproval for the reaction he himself caused; the venomous fact that he actually caused it, being an insensitive, selfish brat he is. He just looks up at the ceiling for a few moments as if waiting for a sign from Heavens, just what on Earth is he supposed to do now? He scared Arthur, this is exactly what he needed on the top of his already ruined day.

Basically, he can’t approach his partner now. He knows these symptoms, all he can do is let Arthur settle his own mind and at least realize that he’s not in direct danger.

Unable to decide anything at this point, he steps to the table, mumbles a ‘thank you’ and sits to eat his dinner. Whatever’s going on in Arthur’s mind, Alfred is occupied with the troubles of his own, sunk too deep into his own mind to notice how this “ignorance” unsettles the other even more. As he eats he bits into the inner side of his lower lip, chews on it, considers several ways how to propose the dilemma he has in mind but eventually he shakes his head and takes another spoonful of potatoes. He doesn’t even look up at his friend when he takes the seat on the other side of the table but averts his eyes down to the floor with stinging conscience and guilt. The swallow he manages is heavy, sends a tightening squeeze down his throat and ribcage.

“So?” Arthur’s gaze is focused, definitely a good sign yet Alfred feels the efforts the other is making to make their communication work again. For the Englishman to push himself over these edges must require control on its limits, Alfred realizes that indeed, Arthur actually presses his own boundaries further every time he gets a chance... for him.

Alfred’s cheeks slowly bloom with colour in shame, he tilts his head to the right and takes another meatball into his mouth as for distraction and excuse for his silence. He is not ready but he has to tell, it can’t stay in his heart anymore. The more he thinks about the matter the more his denial fades, skinning his nerves to admit the most intimate thought that ever crossed his mind and heart in his entire life... but the ‘reward’ he received shouldn’t have been the one catalysing this whole sudden recognition.

Yet, Arthur is still sitting in front of him with largely open eyes, vivid green expectations spiced with mild frustration for the lack of any verbal answer. Alfred, the dear, the lost teenager with the surging hormones in his young body has to put his spoon down and lie back in the chair to release a burdened sigh and purse his lips. Come on, it’s not that bad, right? one of Arthur’s urging eyebrows rise and tell him.

“What is it?”

It just confuses him even more. The injury, the anxiety of his partner, his own strive for perfection in providing all Arthur might need yet failing in the process, the negative feedback he earned that day... Alfred squeezes his eyes shut and frowns, how oblivious Arthur is to the whole picture right in front of him.

“I’ve been scolded today at my workplace. I didn’t concentrate well enough and you know what my boss told me?” For the dramatic silence he expects, only gets an eye-roll and a sigh.

“What?”

“They warned me that whatever troubles me and my girlfriend have, I must keep them at home and not bring them along to my workplace. You know what this means?”

The first thought Arthur had in mind only caused him to bite into the insides of his mouth to suffocate a giggle. So this was behind all the fuss? Alfred was disturbed by the fact, that...

“I’m worried about you, and it affects my performance at work,” the young finishes the thought and even though Arthur has a different thing in mind, he is forced to listen to the other right now. “And you have been cleaning, and cooking again! Please, stay in bed and rest!”

The blue-eyed man receives another eye roll, “like a warm water-bottle?”

“You are injured, Arthur could you stop acting like you wasn’t?”

“You can’t just push me out of the way. I will recover soon but I won’t just lie around like a lazy sack of potatoes. I can’t, it drives me crazy enough to see how hard you work and it seems I’m at home but for nothing, not to mention that I’m also an adult like you, and I know how to take care of myself. I also have some plans for you to look at, I mean,” his voice breaks as he glances to the side, eyes jumping to the laptop on the other side of the sofa, “I haven’t spent the entire day growing my lazy ass.”

“You’re not lazy,” Alfred frowns again. “Stop this nonsense.”

“You know what I mean. Please, bring me the laptop, I made the list of items we should get.”

His frown now filled with suspicions the dark-blonde stands to collect his Mac and places it in front of Arthur so while his friend begins typing he has time to pull his chair beside the man. Right out of work and without his shower Alfred reeks of car tyres, carries the smell of physical work and the distant hint of his deodorant. The images of him working out with the muscles stretching at his abs and shoulders, the masculine smells around him and the heat radiating from his body must be quickly dismissed yet they leave an ever-present knot of heat in Arthur’s lower abdomens.  He does his best to ignore it and focus on his plans. Quickly he gathers all he wished to tell to the other and when he opens the necessary amount of windows on the screen he turns to face Alfred. For a second it runs through his mind that it’s rather odd how quiet his partner is right now, no comments, whining or nagging for his attention...? No attempt to touch or at least, gain his gaze?

Rather than these, the hero sighs and after a few silent moments, casts an expectant glance up from the screen into the green eyes and raises an eyebrow, “hm? I’m listening.”

Well... this is still rather... off.

“Alright. This website has brought many good ideas into my mind about the equipment we should get. Look at this hood, for example.”

He clicked on the item and let Alfred read its information, a glad, satisfied hint rooting in his chest with the man’s approval; “good, that’s actually tough. And not too expensive either.”

“Now, I think we should spend the needed amount on clothing. These can save our lives in more ways than you would think.”

“I agree but let’s keep it in a reasonable bay. For a hood, that’s a good price.”

“Okay, now look at this pair, “Arthur opens a window with a pair of boots and again, let some time pass before asking for the other’s opinion.

“I don’t like the side-zip boots, even if this reaches up only to our shins side-zips can get stuck and if you stuff it or hide a knife in there it can also damage you or the fabric,” the bespectacled explains and the blonde nods; even though Alfred frowns in concentration and unconsciously nibbles into his lower lip he is merely elaborating on the topic and doesn’t carry any arrogance in his voice. Possibly he has no clue how much it means to the other yet it reassures Arthur in all ways. Just watching him read and think loosens all knot doubts the blonde had...

But how, how he misses those absent-minded touches, those soft caresses here and there, Alfred’s fingers just wandering around and letting him know of his constant presence... and now the dark-blonde barely looks at him. Does it really get this deep into him, that Arthur is injured? Where did those blanket-fort nights go with the tales and explanations?

“This one looks safer in this aspect;” Alfred opens the information page of another pair of boots. “the tip is rounded, the sides are hard. Look, this type of tread is good in all kinds of terrain. You wouldn’t slip on ice or get stuck in mud either. We can also put tiny nails in there just to make it sure; it’s thick enough for that too. And... Here, we can put tape and glue stuff. I like this one,” he concludes with a tilt of his head and bookmarks the page. “Yea, this site is cool.”

“You should see this,” it’s Arthur’s turn to open a new window, type and show a pair of pants on a military clothing website but raises a finger before Alfred would start commenting right away, “wait for it.”

The hero releases an exasperated sigh but indeed his jaw is left open when Arthur opens a photoshopped image with all of the equipment he looked up, how it would look all together on a person. Of course, the person is a random male from the internet yet Alfred has to chuckle, “man, that’s awesome. So you meant it like this? Rock-climbing harness, those military pants, the boots, those gloves, dude these look awesome, and that vintage jacket? We’d look like... like some secret agents! Those Ray Ban glasses are freaking compulsory.”

“Well, aren’t you the mysterious one here all the time?” Of course he doesn’t miss the instant mood-shift at the young American; Alfred’s eyes are wide open in excitement and yes, his hand is on Arthur’s thigh supposedly without the dark-blonde knowing about it at all. He doesn’t even have to be aware of it, neither of the calm yet buzzing warmth erupting in Arthur’s chest. Now, things are getting back to normal. When Alfred’s smile turns into a proud and genuine one and is directed at him, Arthur has to cast his eyes away with the ever-embarrassed flush of colour blooming on his cheeks.

“Everything in the right time, my friend.”

The so-serious line with the voice matching draws a shiver down Arthur’s spine and before he realizes he brushes his fingers through the man’s neatly kept hair and releases a low laugh, “let’s hope it worth the wait.”

“Well, you definitely do,” Alfred informs him without missing a beat, bright blue eyes shamelessly locking Arthur’s gaze for a few moments.

Nibbling on his lower lip and smile suddenly melt, the Englishman casts his eyes down on the floor and pulls his hand back into his lap, only to be embraced soon into an awkward bear hug from the side with Alfred’s head leaning onto his shoulder, ”come on, no need to be so shy all the time. It’s just me, the dork, remember?” There he presses a long, admiring kiss into the crook of Arthur’s neck, causing goose bumps to grow immediately as a response, not to mention the heavy clouds steaming on the blonde’s mind. Alfred is back to his own self which is great, but... the arms enveloping him, the masculine scents and the heavy musk around the man, his heart beating with such confidence and faithfulness yet well controlled desire grip Arthur’s ribcage.

“Well, you know my account number,” Alfred goes on casually. “Make some reservations with the customizations you imagined. I trust your decisions and well, surprise me with something,” he shrugs and with a little effort manages to pull Arthur to sit sideways on his lap in order to have his arms properly around the slightly smaller man’s middle, jaw resting on his shoulder to look at the computer screen. Even through his clothes Arthur can feel how firm and muscular Alfred is; enough times has he seen him shirtless before so now just for his own entertainment to recall the images in his mind, the blonde presses a palm onto the other’s chest to pretend losing his balance. For his action, a slightly clouded, lustful gaze meets his own and quite obviously, Alfred’s eyes spring from the hazy green eyes down onto his lips for a millisecond. His breath is caught yet with a restrained swallow, he manages to continue despite the teasing. “I don’t have to watch all the steps you make... but tell me more about the gloves, the jacket and the pants. We didn’t cover those.”

Indeed, there is too much layer on both of them. He feels Alfred’s hold soften on his sides as the man tugs his fingers underneath Arthur’s shirt and without a blink of an eye caresses him, thumb passing through his ribs as if to count all of them. Pressing, holding, admiring, all these in one simple action that make the blonde involuntarily withhold a breath. The slow yet cherishing strokes on his skin are similar to a massage he craved for long yet he didn’t realize how badly, it’s soothing, almost hypnotizing to feel Alfred’s palm and fingers press against him and hold him in a stabile yet gentle hold. He is late with the realization that Alfred already hooked a hand under his right arm and is now palming his cheek, smooth fingers brushing his skin, right beneath his eye and merely a shadow over his lips. He is so young yet, he can’t fight his own heart forever after all.

 A sudden pulse of a vein down his abdomen makes Arthur release a short puff or air which melts into the room just above a few centimetres of the dark-blonde’s lips.  He wonders if Alfred’s lips would taste from sweat, from work, would he have the same anchoring addiction after tasting them like last time? The thought runs another icy tremble down his figure but Alfred holds him tight and all he can do is return the contact, push against him and unconsciously lean into his embrace. His heart is racing beneath the skin and skips a beat when Alfred presses an open mouthed, long kiss onto his throat and gently sucks on the skin. To keep his focus he has to shut his eyes and yes, lift his arms to curl them around the man’s neck, lean even closer and unite their breaths. He can’t miss the stretch of Alfred’s  pants underneath his form, can’t miss the hardness pushing against his thigh and demanding attention; his self-control seems to be absent when he decides to flex his buttocks and gently, ever so slowly shift right onto the bulge of the young man’s erection. The friction and pressure together is almost electric, his blood rushes furiously in his own veins yet he can’t force himself over that small step. Even though his own hold on Alfred is so tight and close it’d be physically impossible to be closer with their clothes on, he still wants to tug on his clothes, pull their bodies flush and warm to heat one and other even further.

It takes only a gentle comb through the neat dark-blonde hair, only a pull at the mops at the nape of his neck and Alfred releases a moan, lips brushing just over Arthur’s with a hungry, feather-light peck.

In that moment Arthur feels the strong barricades in his mind melt, just as he lets his forehead fall on the man’s shoulder to release a God knows how long withheld breath. The strong arms hold him tight and pull him to fit Alfred’s form, so tight he can feel the frantic heartbeat of the other through the veins pulsing all over his body.

The bright blue eyes reflect stormy yet confidant emotions; Alfred has a slight frown yet his mind is completely elsewhere. He also arches, wishes to feel Arthur’s lips on his own and just step over this bridge but suddenly, all his moves cease yet the thumping beat of his heart remains his traitor. In the sudden course of events, Arthur is scared for a moment that his partner changed his mind.

None of them moves for many way too long moments before the soft, almost inaudible whisper breaks the silence. Still entangled into each other, Alfred squeezes his eyes shut for a second and lets Arthur recover his consciousness into the present again, his own breath warm and heavy on the slightly freckled, pale shoulder he wishes to kiss as soon as possible.

“I’d like to shave first, and have a shower. Just arrived home.”

“Take me to the bed, then.”

How easily they forgot their job just from a little game, it flies over their heads as Alfred’s mind slowly processes the command he got and manages a reply, breathlessly and yet so sincerely Arthur has to pull his arms tighter around the man’s neck.

“Will you let me kiss you, then?”

The only answer he got was a long kiss onto the vein right below his ear.

And a lick.

In an instant all hair stands on his arms and on his back.

. . .

This is really happening, his mind chants feverishly. This is it; Alfred scoops him up carefully and carries him to the bedroom and lets him find a less painful position for his injured ankle before kneeling down onto the bed beside him and reach for his shirt. A swift movement, Arthur lifts his arms and the fabric is gone just when Alfred leans in and takes a good hold on the nape of his neck to pull him into a breath-taking, mind bursting kiss, bending over him to have a better angle. His body burns with the low, buzzing coals all over his members as if he was intoxicated, as if his body would finally get the drug it craved for too long and finally is able to function again. He can’t help but feel himself harden beneath his sweatpants, flex his abs with need and arch his spine, pull Alfred closer by the hair on the nape of his neck and just sink deeper into the haze. To know that the same fire roams in Alfred’s veins as well draws his mind away from the present even further. They taste each other, Arthur’s fingers draw uncharted, sharp lines with his fingernails on the man’s chest while the hero’s breath hitches again under his touch. Their lips brush against each other, Alfred swallows and sucks in a breath between his teeth before taking Arthur’s mouth again, nibbling on his lower lip and mindlessly slide his hand down on the blonde’s bare side, enjoying every square-inch of the exposed skin he can reach.

The sensation is soon over with Arthur slowly opening his eyes and pulling away to breath hotly against the American’s cheek, gently nudging his light stubble with his nose, “I take you skip  the shower?”

“Umh... no. I have to go and get clean. Sorry, I’ll be back soon.”

“I won’t run away.”

The comment draws a knowing smile on Alfred’s lips yet his eyes can’t be torn from Arthur’s gaze and lips either. He doesn’t know how to pull his hands away or how to get up from the bed with such an almost unrealistically open Englishman in front of himself. He actually believes this moment to be too precious for him to leave now, how can he leave Arthur alone now that he let him cherish and kiss him for so long, and is ready to allow him for more? His hands display his doubts as they caress Arthur’s hair down behind his ears and gently hold his shoulder while he is ducking head to place it right beneath the blonde’s jaw and squeezes his eyes shut. He has to trust Arthur’s limits as well as his owns.

For the endless moments sitting there, waiting for Alfred to move or say something, Arthur lingers on the illusion of safety he’s enveloped in. The American’s masculine, heavy musk, his mindless touches and the obvious focus he has on him; there’s no split of a second when he’d not be admiring Arthur’s skin with caresses somewhere yet he’s motionless; regardless of the passion flaming in his young body.

There is a thin line here, Alfred concludes in the end. Arthur has indeed allowed him to be close to him, touch and kiss him but the American feels an instinctive need to run a quick analysis of their interactions in the last few days to have an objective, clear view of the situation. With the hypothesis he has in mind about Arthur’s diagnosis, he has to prepare his own mind and body to react in the best ways possible. He has to be ready to stop anytime Arthur feels the discomfort or the anxiety crawl up onto him. This is all what he has now, and this is all he has gotten and for the sake of the two of them, he is the one to be with the metal-solid self-control no matter how hard it will be.

He frowns, bitterness and helpless heartache apparent on his face which causes Arthur himself to take Alfred’s cheeks into his palms and press a reassuring kiss onto the narrow line between the man’s eyebrows, just above his nose.

In that moment under the warm lips of his partner, Alfred only hopes, with all living cells in his body hopes that Arthur trusts him enough to know this too.

 

. . .

The water sends ice-bolts down his body, he trembles and holds back a hiss yet his breath remains ragged. It aches, stings and constricts him from behind yet his hands hold his posture steady, support solid and fix on the wall. No matter how hard it is to calm his raging blood and passionate thoughts the man furrows his brows again with concentration and shakes his head as if to get rid of these images.

As long as it stays in reasonable boundaries he stretches the time he uses in the shower before exiting, taking his briefs and a tank top for the night. Usually he doesn’t wear one but on that particular night he has the intention to represent as much barriers between himself and Arthur as he can. It is most possible that Arthur already chickened out and is sweating in the bedroom just how to avoid having to refuse him openly. Perhaps he’ll find him feigning sleep.

Alfred sighs reluctantly and decides that no matter how cold water he’d flood his Southern regions in, the blue balls will most definitely torture him for just as long as they please. Whatever, he mumbles but winces just a second later as he gets off the tub and dries himself off. Arthur’s been washing the towels too. On 140F because it feels like wiping himself with the ass of a hedgehog.

He’ll continue to cherish him like this. Jumpy, “blessed” with heavy anxieties and PTSD, cranky, grumpy, hard to please and reach but caring and deep down as sensitive as a newborn kitten. The emotional blindness is painfully accurate, Alfred decides and bites into the insides of his cheeks to restrain a smirk. Arthur.

Arthur was, just as predicted, feigning sleep by the time he got back and Alfred didn’t waste any time throwing his worn clothes into the laundry basket and climb in behind his partner. Carefully, not to wake him from the thin attire of slumber the American snuggles his way to have Arthur hugged and tugged in properly just as he would be every other evening. His upper, right arm hooked under Arthur’s and fist warming at the man’s chest Alfred releases a content sigh and finally, lets his eyes slip shut.

He can’t miss, can’t even pretend to neglect when Arthur’s fingers gently circle around his thumb and the man’s shoulders loosen from their tense strain. As for a reply he only presses the usual ‘goodnight’ kiss onto the nape of Arthur’s neck and smiles tenderly into it.

"Everything in the right time, Art... You worth it all."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't emphasize enough how hard this writing block has been hitting me. I'm practically forcing myself to write, people say it's supposed to help. :( Well, you are to decide. Please do tell me how this came out!
> 
> I can't resist the fluff. Just can't.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This is an experiment with a new narration technique as well. I don't plan this to be a big story, more like, what it just feels like, will be written as well. 
> 
> I hope you like it :)


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